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LOVE 


SHAWL-STRAPS 


ANNETTE L. NOBLE 


Author of 

Uncle Jack’s Executors 


WITH THE COLLABORATION OF 


PEARL CLEMENT COANN 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


LONDON 


NEW YORK 


Entered at New York Post Ornce as Second .Class Matter 




























































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By ANNETTE LUCILLE NOBLE. 


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LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS 


ANNETTE L NOBLE 

i * 

AUTHOR OF 

“ UNCLE JACK’S EXECUTORS” 


WITH THE COLLABORATION OF 

PEARL CLEMENT COANN 

i 




G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

t 

NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 

&Ijr Knickerbocker |)rcss 

1894 






Copyright, 1894 
By G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London 


Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by 

Ube IKmcfcetbocber iptees, Ittcw Jl)orh 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I—THE TOUR PROPOSED 

II—EMBARKED .... 

III— HOW DOCTOR TOM CONDUCTED 

IV— THE TOUR BEGINS 

V-BY RAIL AND RIVER 

VI—DAYS IN PRAGUE . 

VII—UNDER MONT BLANC 
VIII —LOVE .... 


PAGE 

I 

9 

34 

68 

108 

144 

181 

242 

278 


IX-SHAWL-STRAPS 









LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


CHAPTER FIRST. 

THE TOUR PROPOSED. 

I N the winter of 1889 Doctor Thomas Bruce had 
forty-nine patients with the grippe. Some died 
and some got well. He was wondering if there 
was to be a fiftieth case, when he became it—that is in 
so far as he was his own patient. His sister, Mrs. Kate 
Thorne, was the better doctor about that time. She 
nursed him through the weakness that followed his 
illness, so that he was on his feet again toward spring. 
Doctor Tom was a bachelor, in good and regular 
standing, “ fair to middling ” in his profession, and 
as his obituary may put it hereafter, beloved by 
many and respected by all. He realized that his 
widowed sister Kate had twice his wit and wisdom. 
She was his silent partner; silent when it was his 
place to speak, having always previously said her say. 
She it was who gave him in private the impetus that 



2 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


impelled him on certain occasions when the public 
called him “a go-ahead fellow.” 

One day in February Mrs. Kate seated herself in 
Tom’s office fora consultation not professional. She 
was a tall, trim lady, thirty-five years old, wore nice 
gloves and a tailor-made gown ; had been teacher of 
literature in a young ladies’ seminary. 

“Tom,” she said, “you ought to go abroad; a 
man is not half educated who has never crossed the 
ocean. Go this summer.” 

“ I can’t afford it ; don’t know enough to get 
around alone, and no tourist parties for me.” 

“ I want to go again.” 

“You—why you have been to Europe twice.” 

“That is just why I could go so easily a third 
time. I have a plan by which we might both go 
cheaply and pleasantly.” 

“ Speak for state-rooms at once.” 

“ There is a great deal to be done first, Tom, but 
I am equal to it. I like girls. I know all about 
them. We will take with us five or six young ladies 
whose parents cannot go with them, or delicate ladies 
(friends of yours) who would go if they need have 
no care or worry and could be in the charge of a 
doctor.” 

“A sort of combination of private boarding-school 
and floating hospital,” put in Tom, looking doubt¬ 
ful. 

“ Not at all; only a little party of lovely young 


THE TOUR PROPOSED. 


3 


people and refined women travelling together. I 
will make out an itinerary.” 

“ A what ? ” 

“ The plan of our tour and places to see.” 

“ Oh, I thought you were going to rope in a Metho¬ 
dist minister for chaplain, may be.—No other man 
but me ? ” 

“ Certainly not—any other would be a nuisance— 
if not improper. I will calculate expenses and then 
have printed a little paper for private circulation 
among our acquaintances. By managing the party 
1 can get a reduction at hotels on account of our 
numbers. It will cost each only what she would pay 
if she went alone, and she will have delightful com¬ 
panionship—(mine, in short)—and some one to tell 
her just what she ought to see-” 

(“ You this time,” put in Tom.) 

“ By making any arrangements you like with pa¬ 
tients in your care, we can save something on our 
own expenses.” 

Tom’s face grew cloudier yet. “ Fancy me keeper 
in general of half a dozen cranky, hysterical inva¬ 
lids—a travelling bear garden would be a saints’ rest 
in comparison.” 

“ That is not my idea at all,” expostulated his sis¬ 
ter. “ We will not take one really sickly person, only 
timid ones who fear to cross the ocean.” 

“ Do I agree before sailing to save every one of 
them and your boarding school besides in case “the 



4 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


complicated machinery of one of our magnificent 
ocean steamers busts up on the way ? ” 

“You are to do as I say, and enjoy the result of 
my ideas.” 

“It suggests St. Paul and his perils by land and 
perils by sea, and I bet before it is over I will remem¬ 
ber fighting with beasts at-” 

“ Be still, you irreverent creature,” said Kate, going 
to a bookcase and taking from an upper shelf half 
a dozen red-covered Baedekers and a big atlas. With 
these she retired to her own part of the house, merely 
adding: “We will probably sail about the middle 
of May.” 

Tom grinned as he returned to his medical journal. 

It was three weeks before Kate again spoke at 
length of the trip. Tom knew that in the meantime 
she had caused to be printed a concise and elegant 
leaflet, telling the how, where, and when of the pro¬ 
jected tour, with terms and conditions. She had 
asked of him the names of any of his patients who 
happened to be either intelligent spinsters of means, 
or agreeable widows without children and able to 
travel. Tom worked over his address book one whole 
rainy afternoon, and then gave her a list like the 
catalogue of a flourishing seminary. To his surprise, 
out of these seventy or eighty maids and “ widows 
indeed,” Kate, after much laughing, eyebrow lifting, 
delicate sniffing, and open derision, chose six or eight 
to whom she sent notes and leaflets. She had already 



THE TOUR PROPOSED. 5 

attended to her own invitations, which were given to 
“nice girls ” of her acquaintance. 

“ Of course, I have invited a good many more than 
I want, because probably only a few that are asked 
can go,” she explained to Tom one night when she 
was ready to talk things over. 

“ Then why did you not send papers to all my 
list?” asked Tom, turning around in his office chair. 

“ Because any of mine would surely be all right, 
but yours. —Oh, Kilkenny cats, Tom ! Little you 
know about women ! ” 

“Who knows more of them than a doctor?” 

“After he is fifty, he knows some things. You 
are thirty-six and unmarried ; you understand lungs 
and livers, but tempers and consciences—divil a bit 
—if they are feminine,” retorted Kate, who let her¬ 
self go a little when alone with Tom, by way of 
relaxation after long public propriety. 

“Well, what have you done up to date?” asked 
the Doctor, amicably. 

“ A vast amount of letter writing and letter read¬ 
ing. If, according to Doctor Holmes, a child’s edu¬ 
cation should begin a hundred years before it is born, 
the proper tourist should also be trained long before 
he begins to tour. Mine must know what to see, and 
how to behave while seeing it. I have had endless 
letters, all more or less characteristic. My answers 
are equal to a course of parlor lectures, but there 
must be a perfect understanding at the outset.” 


6 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ About what, for instance ? ” 

“ About the sort of girl I will take. I do not want 
any who load their fingers with rings, or who wear 
soiled party gloves, or, worse still, pull off travel- 
soiled gloves for the sake of showing diamonds—no 
girls capable of hiding behind smoke-pipes to flirt 
with chance acquaintances, when it is ten bells, or 
whatever bells means bedtime on shipboard.” 

“ My gracious, Kate ! How can you tell before¬ 
hand about flirts and smoke-pipes? ” 

“ I can not, invariably. It will be your duty to hunt 
behind the pipes before we turn in. You see, there 
are many things involved in taking care of the young 
and innocent, but you will learn in good time, Tom.” 

The Doctor sucked the top of his penholder, and 
looked as contemplative as a statue of Buddha, but 
not as serene. 

“Girls’ letters are amusing,” said Kate. “ Every 
identical girl says it ‘ has been the dream of her life ’ 
to go abroad.” 

“ Humph!” muttered Tom; “like that one who 
yearned to get on the Grand Canal, and ‘ drink it 
all in.’ ” 

“ Exactly—each one speaks of the Rialto, the 
Bridge of Sighs, and hopes to practise ‘ my French. 
It may not be very fluent, but the Prof, says my 
accent is quite perfect.’ All of them ask to have a 
few days in Paris just for shopping, you know.” 

“ But they can’t bring any great amount of finery 


THE TOUR PROPOSED. J 

through the custom-house, especially as you allow 
them so little luggage,” remarked Tom. 

“ Oh, a really conscientious girl with one little 
trunk will do wonders. She will declare two eighty- 
cent souvenir spoons, and all the sleeves of her gowns 
will be full of the laces and the gloves that she 
knows the law would allow her, only she does not 
want them mussed over by handling.” 

Tom appeared to be reflecting on some new phase 
of the subject, for he presently said : “ It would be 

only fair to take some young men and a few old 
bachelors to balance things. All this feminine at¬ 
mospheric pressure on my poor square inches, and 
you free as a bird.” 

“ Oh, your heart is of the guttapercha order, 
Tom. It is not hard, it will yield perhaps to pres¬ 
sure ; but it will be good as new when pressure is 
removed.” 

“ But guttapercha can melt, Kate. I have care¬ 
fully kept out of emotionally hot spots.” 

“And so you shall, old fellow, or I will cool you 
down when you need it; besides, you just now in¬ 
timated that you were used to womankind.” 

“ Of course, as a doctor I am. When dangers 
threaten I order them to the seaside, send in a very 
big bill, or, if worst comes to worst, I say lots of my 
ancestors were insane, and I shall never marry. 
But this tour is different—is what what-’s-his-name 
declared was ‘ what you may call it.’ ” 


8 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


Kate stared at the lucid quotation, and then trans¬ 
lated it. 

“ Oh, you mean propinquity producing matri¬ 
mony ; but you are safe enough, being bald, and 
getting on in years. You will be nothing to them 
compared with the sight of something interesting 
and new every day.” And with this sisterly cruelty 
she ended, saying, “ Get your note-book, and I will 
tell you some things you are to see to at once.” 

They were dictated, copied, and Tom went to bed 
with what in polite literature are called mingled emo¬ 
tions, a little sweet, a little sour, on the whole like 
mixed pickles, stimulating and not unpleasant. He 
realized that he was going abroad. 


CHAPTER SECOND. 

EMBARKED. 

A CERTAIN Tuesday in May was very fatiguing 
for Mrs. Thorne, and very trying for her 
brother. It was a warm, rainy, sticky day. 
Doctor Tom longed to drink lemonade and to lie on 
the back-parlor sofa pretending that his rest had been 
broken up by patients the previous night. He could 
not indulge in any commonplace idleness. He had to 
pack his valise, to run on errands, to write on cardboard 
tags “ Wanted in State-room No. —.” Most bewilder¬ 
ing of all, he was often called to the parlor. Here Kate 
would want to introduce him to some of the ladies 
who were to be later in their care. Each one had 
with her several relatives and friends variously sym¬ 
pathetic or enthusiastic about the tour. He con¬ 
stantly assured the ones who were to stay home that 
they were not likely to be sea-sick, or said they 
looked as if the voyage would do them good. He 
received a vague impression that one girl was to be 
exposed to the sea breezes in the hope of having 
blown away from her the melancholy vapors of an 

9 


10 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


unhappy love affair. At least he gathered as much 
from the tearful mother’s whisper and the mysterious 
father’s wink when the girl’s back was turned—if she 
was the girl meant. He gave another gentleman 
reason to believe that he would go with his daughter 
to Marchbunk Skipwig on the Grange or Skipmarch 
Bunkwig in the Moors (anyway the place was in 
England) to hunt up an estate belonging to the 
gentleman’s ancestors. It would naturally revert to 
him if the records, deeds, etc., were found by Tom 
and properly proved. He explained to each family 
group why, under European conditions then existing, 
war was impossible, and cholera not to be thought 
of. He agreed to go to a great many cities Kate 
had no intention of visiting. He left a great many 
apt things unsaid which she said for him. He finally 
began to say a great many more that he ought not 
to have said, but some of these he flattened out as 
thin as possible after she got a chance to look him a 
look that he understood. This was good in him, for 
what he longed to say was : “ How in thunder can 

I tell which of the gang is going with us ? ” and yet 
all he said when the last one departed was: “ I am 

afraid I will not know them again when I see them 
on the steamer.” 

“ You will after the first day,” replied Kate, 
blithely. “ Now have you painted our names in 
plain sight on each portmanteau ? There is no 
check system over there, you know, and you will 


EMBARKED. 


11 

have to keep your eyes open to know if porters col¬ 
lect them all at the stations.” 

“ About how many will there be ? ” 

“ I have allowed each person two, because two 
bags cost less and are easier managed than one 
trunk. Then, besides these, every one has a valise 
or steamer trunk, to leave in England to store things 
in or to fill with purchases. Let me see ! Eight of 
us in all makes-” 

“ Twenty-four pieces of luggage for one man’s 
eyes! Why, Kate Bruce Thorne, if I were a whole 
paper of hooks and eyes, I could not keep that 
number fastened together. I tell you this contract 
is going to be too big for us.” 

“ Go get your dinner, Tom ; take a strong cup of 
coffee. You will know more, and so feel more sure 
of yourself, after a week of travel.” 

About seven that night the Doctor and his sister 
took a carriage to the pier. The steamer did not 
sail until eight the next morning, but passengers 
were allowed to stay on board overnight. As they 
neared the pier it seemed as if half the people in the 
city were to embark on the vessel, whose huge bulk 
loomed up against the ferry-house, dark and indis¬ 
tinct, except for the brilliant port-holes. Many lines 
of street cars were disgorging, from the fast-arriving 
cars, scores of elbowing, perspiring passengers. 
Trucks, top-heavy with luggage, were blocking the 
way for cabs and coaches covered with new folding- 



12 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


chairs, steamer-trunks, and rolls of wraps. From 
the carriage windows were looking people in smart 
travelling attire. If the progress of vehicles was 
slow, that of pedestrians was not much faster. Jews, 
Germans, Irish, and Italians were everywhere under 
foot, with dogs, babies, tin boxes, stew-pans, pillows, 
feather-beds, and the very fuzzy carpet-bags, and hide- 
covered, brass-nailed trunks that lived long ago in our 
grandmother’s garret. Vociferous police officers, 
baggage agents, and sailors were everywhere, except 
where certain excited women were looking for them 
—the women whose bonnets are never firmly an¬ 
chored, and who have always lost their one treasure, 
be it husband, baby, or trunk. 

A sort of “ will I be thus when I am dead ” feeling 
came over Tom as he heard a baggage-man bawl, 
“ Folks as can’t see to trunks must expect to lose 
’em!” But once up the gangway, over moist, 
shadowy decks odorous of new paint, tar, fish, salt 
sea waves, and machinery oil, past civil stewards in 
blue coats with brass buttons, they found their way 
—Tom and Kate—to the electric splendor of the 
saloons and dining-room. There the chintz covers 
were all off the blue satin and red velvet upholstery. 
The long tables were parterres of magnificent 
flowers, so uniquely made up it seemed as if a 
florist’s stock in trade must have married into a 
milliner’s department and issued innumerable cards. 
Every bud and blossom had a ribbon streamer or a 


EMBARKED. 


13 


satin bow. The fast-coming people were moving up 
and down the aisles, reading the cards. Some young 
ladies (Tom shunned them) discovering floral offer¬ 
ings for themselves, called : “ Oh, Pa ! ” “ Oh, Ma ! ” 
or “ Just see, Charlie ! ” 

Others, after a careful scrutiny unrewarded, be¬ 
came scoffers, and grumbled about “having to eat 
with pyramids of roses decaying under our noses.” 
In general, however, all the passengers or friends 
who came to see the boat were in good spirits. 

Tom lost Kate the first thing, but, knowing they 
had come to stay a week at least, he gave himself 
up to watching the crowd. Half-grown boys and 
girls were careering about, hunting up state-rooms 
and squabbling about who should sleep on the top 
shelf. Full-grown girls and boys were slipping into 
alcoves, and certain bits of dialogue recalled possible 
“ srnoke-pipe ” duties to the Doctor’s mind. (“ This 
is the photograph—it is horrid, but if you will 

have it,” etc., etc.-“You have the address ; Brown 

& Shipley, bankers, forward the letters.”-“ Non¬ 

sense, Jim! 'Sh! somebody will hear!” or “I 
could n’t help his sending those roses, you need n’t 
be so cross!”) Mothers began to ingratiate them¬ 
selves with the stewardess. P'athers interviewed the 
head steward to make sure of good seats at the first 
table;—that bland fellow who gave everybody a clear 
title, well knowing half would never put in a claim. 

The Doctor finally remembered that Kate had 




14 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


told him that “ their six ” were not coming on board 
until morning, so he was relieved from the fear of 
passing them without a recognition. Kate at the 
same time had explained to Tom that he was never 
to use the word party , but was always to say “ our 
six” or “we eight.” She said party suggested 
vulgar “ conducted tours,” or erratic folk of assorted 
styles and sizes, with note-books and linen dusters, 
always doing cities in a day by ceaselessly climbing 
in and out of band wagons—wagons driven by fat 
men in scarlet, blowing tally-ho horns. Tom, with 
masculine density, failed to see that the use of what 
seemed to him a nice convenient word would photo¬ 
graph on anybody’s mind this sort of a picture of 
Kate, himself, and six ladies, but he promised not 
to say “ our party.” 

No one slept much that night. There was an in¬ 
cessant banging, pounding, rushing back and forth, 
putting in of freight and blowing off of steam. Both 
Kate and Tom were wide-awake until daylight, when 
they dozed off into confused dreams. She was try¬ 
ing to rescue her damsels from a mediaeval baron who 
had them in a tower on the Rhine, while Tom was 
laboriously crossing the Alps on a threshing 
machine. Neither awoke until the ship was moving 
from the pier. Kate hastened to dress, fearing to be 
late to breakfast the first morning, and hoping Tom 
had been on deck to greet new-comers. He had not, 
for they met at the dining-room door. 


EMBARKED. 


15 


“ Oh, Tom, did you not see any of the relatives ? ” 

“ Nary a one ! They had all wiped their weeping 
eyes and been ordered off the gang-plank before I 
got up. Now, how will our par—our six find us? ” 

“ The head steward will send them all to Alcove 
A, where we have a table to ourselves. You sit 
at one end and I at the other, with three on each 
side.” 

It was a cheerful place, and animated with arriving 
groups of lively talking people. American sunshine 
(soon to be left behind) was streaming in at port¬ 
holes and sifting down through the gorgeous sky¬ 
light. Flowers and fruit made gay the tables 
resplendent with bright silver, crystal, and snowy 
linen. 

“ Speak their names out loud as they come so I 
shall know which is which,” hoarsely whispered Tom, 
crowding between the sofa-seat and the table. 

Down the aisle with a rapid little strut advanced a 
lady that made him think of a full-breasted bantam. 
She bustled up to the steward, who was more than 
busy, then espying Mrs. Thorne, she sped toward 
her and secured the seat at her right hand. Kate 
greeted her cordially as Mrs. Bushby. She had a 
stylish top-knot of greyish-sandy hair, twinkling grey 
eyes, dimples and a double chin ; also a shrewd ex¬ 
pression and a breezy manner. Her neat travelling 
dress was so very snug around her plump figure that 
she needs must puff a trifle when she talked. Tom 


16 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

fixed her fast in his mind. She was the widow of a 
general in the United States Army. Mrs. Bushby had 
but seated herself when Miss Harriet Dwight moved 
serenely into place. She bowed to the Doctor, bade 
them all good-morning, and began to read the menu 
quite as if she had ordered her oatmeal in that spot 
since her earliest years. 

“ Dwight ? Dwight ? ” thought Tom. “ Oh, I know 
now—a Smith College graduate, home in Boston, 
very superior girl, friend of Kate’s Boston relatives. 
He noticed that she had a clear-cut face, very fine 
complexion, calm grey eyes, black hair simply 
arranged, and a beautiful mouth. Tom decided 
“ she was all there,” whatever he meant by that 
judgment. 

The head steward presently escorted two more 
ladies to the alcove, and Mrs. Thorne greeted them 
as Mrs. Pollock and Mrs. Florida Pollock. 

“ Mother and her daughter-in-law,” was Tom’s 
silent comment. “ ‘Widdies all two of them,’ as the 
French say ; rich, I believe Kate said.” 

The older Mrs. Pollock would suggest at once to 
a frivolous-minded person what a fine ghost she 
would be for private theatricals. She was very tall, 
thin, and ashy white, with deep-set eyes and a 
nervously hesitant manner. She tried to speak to 
both ends of the table at once, while greatly per¬ 
plexing the attendant steward, who, attempting to 
fit her into one chair, found her halting by another. 


EMBARKED. 


17 

The daughter glided instantly to the place by 
Doctor Bruce, when, to the surprise of the steward, 
the mother again escaped him and seated herself by 
“ Flori,” as she called her. 

Mrs. Pollock, Jr., was a sort of animated anachro¬ 
nism. Computing dates by her attire and voice 
she was twenty; by her jet-black eyes and glittering 
teeth she was thirty; by her complexion—that is, 
examining a delicate embroidery of drawn-work 
artistically executed by Time at the corners of her 
eyelids and her lips—she was—well, older. She 
beamed on everybody graciously, while, in an off¬ 
hand way, she selected a big orange for her mother 
and a bigger for herself. She shot a keen glance at 
Miss Dwight, and seemed not disquieted at the re¬ 
sult ; then arrived the last two young ladies, and the 
seats were full. 

Of course, there was a polite interchange of com¬ 
monplace remarks between the coming and going of 
waiters with omelettes, steaks, fried potatoes, and 
coffee ; but every one was watching all the rest, and 
especially the last to come. Miss Dorothy Coxe was 
barely out of her teens. When you gazed at her you 
fancied just how she looked when she was five years 
old, and she had not gotten over that look yet. She 
was angelically sweet. Such velvety pink cheeks, 
such a puckered rosebud of a mouth ! Hair silky 
brown with moist little rings curling every which 
way, and eyes so very blue. Now, after childhood. 


18 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

such big, wide-open, sky-blue eyes are almost never 
known, except in the chromo-girls given away with 
pounds of tea. But eyes can’t be “ made up ” like 
other manageable human features, and this blueness 
was as wonderful as it was genuine. Kate called her 
“ Dolly ” in a most affectionate way. She had been a 
former pupil. Dolly wore a white blouse, also a 
diamond and turquoise ring on her pretty plump 
hand. She had a silvery laugh with such a tinkle of 
wickedness in it the awful thought occurred to Tom 
that he might some day (fancying she was one of his 
little pet patients) take her up and hug her. Not 
that the sin per se, as theologians say, seemed awful 
to him, but its consequences in a par—considering 
the six he meant. After Miss Cox came Miss Bilton, 
a brunette with a pleasant face and nothing at once 
noticeable either in person or manner. She was the 
niece of a friend of Kate’s, received on the strength 
of that relationship. “ Nice, inoffensive girl,” Tom 
decided. 

After breakfast everybody who never had crossed 
before was on deck admiring the bay, declaring no 
other bay equalled it; old travellers grinned but 
assented. Fathers, brothers, and lovers were busy 
getting best places for chairs. Ladies with crisp new 
veils, new gloves, new novels, and new steamer rugs, 
were being tucked into these new chairs from whose 
depth they smiled serenely on sky and sea, on 
Brooklyn Bridge, and bronze Liberty. They were 


EMBARKED. 


19 


pathetically oblivious of certain new sensations 
awaiting them, when liberty like life and the pursuit 
of happiness would seem a birthright inalienable 
only on land. 

Mrs. Bushby, who declared she never could be 
“ swaddled up in that way,” engaged Kate in a 
lively conversation. The Pollocks retired below, to 
emerge later in grey ulsters and knitted woollen head 
coverings. The ghostly one carried a bag, with 
salts, six handkerchiefs, lemon drops, and two pairs 
of blue spectacles. Florida only carried her head 
higher than at breakfast. She had reflected that 
they probably had more money than Mrs. Bushby, 
but that possibly she herself had made a blunder in 
bringing so many old clothes to wear out on the 
tour. Homestayers had advised the plan as sensi¬ 
ble; she had considered it to be economical. 

Tom was soon making the circuit of the deck with 
Dolly Coxe. He had not asked her to walk, neither 
had she invited him. It seemed to do itself as chil¬ 
dren say. Acts of what a specialist might call un¬ 
conscious cerebration often accomplished themselves 
when Dolly was at hand. 

Harriet Dwight passed them, smiling brightly. 

“ She has taken lessons in physical culture,” said 
Dolly, craning her neck to look back at Harriet. 
“ Don’t you see she walks Delsarte fashion ? ” 

“ She walks remarkably well,” said Tom, bluntly, 
“ so many women nip or waddle or totter.” 


20 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ So they do unless they are young and good 
dancers—though some Delsarte walkers stride ri¬ 
diculously. It makes a petite girl look as if she were 
playing grenadier. Oh, my prophetic soul! You 
are a doctor are n’t you ? You will be forever diagnos¬ 
ing us ‘ with a critic’s eye,’ the whole trip around. I 
don’t care ; I never was ill in my life, and I am just 
as much of a society girl as I can manage to be. It 
agrees with me ; almost everything does agree with 

y y 

me. 

“And almost everybody, no doubt,” suggested 
Doctor Tom. 

“ Well, yes, sooner or later. Here is Miss Dwight 
again. I know what she is doing, making hay while 
the sun shines. She is the sort of girl who makes 
no fuss, asks few questions, but before night she will 
know all about six bells, ship logs, taking the sun, 
and all the other nautical performances. To-mor¬ 
row she will get down to the engines, and the day 
after the Captain will invite her on the bridge. There 
is a little note-book in her pocket. I have one in 
mine. Before we land I will have the addresses of a 

few howling sw-” (She bit off the last words so 

that Tom heard only the amendment) “ Holborn 
tailor-made suit shops; and Miss Dwight will have 
facts in hers that will interest her astronomical pro¬ 
fessor when she marries him years hence. Oh! 
that must be the steerage deck at this end of the 
boat ; let us go look down there! ” 



EMBARKED . 


21 


Miss Dwight met Miss Bertha Bilton dawdling 
about the door, and fancying that she might be lonely 
she spoke cheerily to her. Miss Bilton replied with 
effusion. The sea breeze flushed her cheeks and 
brightened her eyes. She looked rather pretty. She 
was shorter and stouter than Miss Dwight; though 
her mouth was large, her lips were very red, her 
teeth white, and she had dark, luxuriant hair. Kate, 
in speaking of her to Tom, said she had a heavy face 
and was the kind of a brunette to turn olive green 
if she were sea sick. She added that Miss Bilton 
was amiable and pious. 

“ I do not care to walk, Miss Dwight, until I get 
used to the motion. Don’t you want to sit down 
here awhile ? ” 

They were near one of the fixed benches which 
many preferred to chairs. Miss Dwight seated her¬ 
self to watch with interest whatever went on about 
them. Miss Bilton looking her companion full in 
the face fluently poured out her emotions at leaving 
home, her present reflections and vivid anticipations. 
She invited her hearer’s confidence in return, but at 
the end of twenty minutes Miss Bilton knew that 
Miss Dwight came into New York the day before on 
the Fall River boat, while Miss Dwight had learned 
that Bertha’s mother (she begged to be called 
Bertha) idolized her—that she “ had been engaged 
but that was all over now,” that she “ loved society,” 
and “ revelled in the best literature,” admiring na- 


22 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


ture too in such a degree that summers she “ could 
take Emerson’s Essays and sit under the trees for 
hours just lost in thoughts”—either her own or 
Emerson’s, or half and half. She was “ very sensitive 
and could not live without love.” She hoped the 
party would love her, she felt drawn to Miss Dwight 
already. 

Miss Dwight was about to excuse herself to go 
below for a warmer wrap when Miss Bilton spoke of 
Rome. Goethe says it is only in Rome that one can 
prepare to see Rome, but Miss Bilton was an excep¬ 
tion. Miss Dwight admired nothing more than 
thoroughness in anything. Soon she saw that Bertha 
was “ up ” in Roman history—not crammed, but 
really instructed and enthusiastic. She had also 
made her own a fund of antique lore, of facts about 
art, artists, and architecture, all of which she poured 
out as guilelessly and as little for effect as she had 
given forth her personal confidences. Miss Dwight 
qualified her secret verdict that Miss Bilton was a 
fool and was at a loss what to label her. 

“ I am troubled about my steamer chair,” sud¬ 
denly said Bertha, looking off to sea past a man who 
had seated himself near. Her voice had an unctuous 
blandness of tone, though she spoke rapidly. “ It 
was plainly marked before it was sent on board, but 
I do not find it with the others.” 

Miss Dwight started to say that Doctor Bruce 
would speak to the deck steward about it, when the 
man at the right hand said : 


EMBARKED. 23 

“ Beg pardon—but I will hunt your chair if you 
like—if you tell me how it is marked.” 

“ With my full name : ‘ Miss Bertha Bilton, Room 

^ ^ » y y 

270. 

He bowed and was off at once. “ I should have 
snubbed him,” said Miss Dwight, frigidly. 

“ Why ! why ! Is there anything wrong in letting 
him get my chair?” cried Miss Bertha, plaintively. 

“ It may not be wicked. I must go below,” re¬ 
plied Miss Harriet, disappearing down the gangway. 
When she came up Miss Bilton did not see her. 
She was supine in her recovered chair with the man’s 
plush rug across her lap. He was leaning on the 
near rail listening to her. Harriet heard something 
about life being “ intolerable without congenial 
friends.” 

“ She looks now as if she were full of love to 
everybody,” was the Smith College graduate’s secret 
comment. 

There were three days when the waves swept the 
deserted decks, and the dining-room stewards swept 
the almost equally deserted saloon. Following that 
came a calm which was beautiful beyond words. 
The sea was a vast mirror for the reflection of an 
azure sky, both framed in golden sunrises and sun¬ 
sets. Again the chairs (no longer new but weather- 
stained) were filled with limp human creatures in 
various phases of recovery, all starch gone from 
them. A few hours of beef tea and convalescence 


24 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


followed, then for almost every one a mighty appetite 
and wondrous vigor. Sea life was joy, not torture. 
There was time for gossip, flirtation, games. Kate 
had a new book always in her hand. She read 
much, but not between covers. She knew a great 
deal of her “ six ” from tete-a-tctes in the saloon or in 
shady nooks on deck. Doctor Tom came around at 
intervals and exercised Mrs. Bushby, Kate, and Miss 
Dwight (if he found her), but the Pollocks declined 
to “ stir themselves up unnecessarily.” They com¬ 
muned together behind their blue glasses, gave 
continual orders for between-meal delicacies, talking 
often in low tones of what was “ included in the 
trip.” 

Dolly Coxe found old friends on board; a most 
unexceptionable family: the Van Broeks. By Mr. 
Van Broek she was made much of; Mrs. Van Broek 
smiling complacently, and later introducing to Dolly 
three young fellows, distant relatives of her own. 
Dorothy after that was taken care of from early 
morn to dewy eve. Tom assured Kate that Dolly 
was a flirt. Mrs. Thorne only smiled and limited 
her attentions as chaperon to warnings that Welsh 
rarebits at ten o’clock at night would give Dolly the 
nightmare. Kate sipped lemonade at another table 
when Dolly held court in the purser’s corner. 

“Do you see Miss Bilton on deck, Tom?” asked 
Kate one day, adding: “I hope she is well and 
happy.” 


EM BA RATED. 


25 


“ Yes. She is talking now to her friend.” 

“ What friend ? ” 

“ Oh, the man from Reading, Pennsylvania, the 
architect, has n’t she told you his entire history; 
she told it to me the second day out. Probably 
they are engaged.” 

“ Well, I am glad there is some one on board 
whom she knows, but I hope no engaged girls have 
given permission to their fiances to dog our steps 
about Europe. ‘ No followers allowed ’ should have 
been on my itinerary.” 

“ Oh, Miss Bilton will not prove obstreperous. 
She opens up a little too profusely, that is all. 
To-day she gave me full details of her Sunday- 
school class, her mission work, and I don’t know 
what all.” 

“ There she comes now,” said Kate, dropping into 
a seat. 

Tom started on a “ constitutional,” while Miss 
Bertha sank rather weakly into a place behind Kate, 
leaving so many loose ends of rugs and wraps float¬ 
ing windward that the first man who passed stopped 
and tucked her up snugly. She took kindly to such 
attentions. 

“ Are you feeling well ? ” asked Mrs. Thorne, and 
soon wished she had not, for Bertha seemed to think 
each one of her internal organs called up for minute 
discussion and inspection. People with troublesome 
stomachs talk on a voyage like the parents of dis- 


26 


LOVE AND SHA WL-STRAPS. 


agreeable children, as if the worse both pests behave 
the more interesting topics are they for conversation. 

“ My brother tells me, Miss Bilton, that you have 
a friend on board. That makes it pleasant for 
you r 

“ Yes, delightful! And I should like so much to 
introduce him to you ; he is very well read, and we 
have many interests in common. He is very refined 
and so particular about me. He does not want me 
to walk with many of the men who ask us to go 
around the deck for exercise.” 

“ But you never would think of doing that with 
strangers ? ” 

Miss Bilton gazed dreamily seaward, then brought 
her rather bright dark eyes to bear caressingly on 
Kate, murmuring with much sweetness: “Dear 
Mrs. Thorne, I want to ask something of you. I am 
sure you are so lovely you will grant it. I told 
mamma I was drawn to you the first time I ever saw 
you.” 

“ Keep your skirts off that rope or you will get 
tar all over them,” remarked Kate, with a grimness 
peculiar to her on occasions. 

Miss Bilton languidly reefed her own sails, for she 
had become unfurled since her late tucking up. 

“ Mr. Popham says he would dearly love to call 
and take me to the theatre while we are in London. 
—What hotel will we be at ? ” 

“ May be one, perhaps another. It depends,” 
said Kate. 


EMBARKED. 


27 


“ Well, I was sure you would let me go. He said 
he should be lonely, and I know you will like him. I 
almost feel as if I ought to be more friendly for he is 
so easily influenced for good. He smokes too much, 
but when I reasoned with him he threw his cigar 
away, and he says he shall always think of me as a 
sort of good angel.” 

“ Are you engaged to him, Miss Bilton ? ” 

“ O dear, no,” blushed the smiling maiden, writh¬ 
ing in agreeable embarrassment, adding a second 
after : “ Don’t you tell the girls, will you ? But he 
did say (we were leaning over the rail looking at 
the phosphorescence just after dark last night) that 
he should have to love me, he just could not help it.” 

“ Well, Miss Bilton, if he is a worthy young man, 
and—” 

“ He is not young, he is forty. I like mature 
men ; that one I was engaged to was not. He never 
had suffered. I think men have to suffer before 
they can be strong. Don’t you, Mrs. Thorne ? ” 

“ And if your parents think him a desirable hus¬ 
band for you that takes all question of your future 
out of any one else’s consideration ; but I regret that 
your mother did not speak of his crossing on the 
steamer. Now, about the theatre. Young ladies 
abroad never go to theatres with gentlemen without 
a chaperon.” 

“ He said he would pay for you if I could not go 
without his doing it,” remarked Bertha, with the 
simplicity of an infant in arms. 


28 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“If you were engaged I should allow you to 
go,” continued Kate, with dignity, “ provided Mrs. 
Bushby or Mrs. Pollock with some of the young 
ladies in their care made up a party. As it is—well, 
perhaps, if you expect to be engaged and can assure 
me your mother will approve, you might go with a 
party.” 

“ But mamma never heard of Mr. Popham.” 

“ Never heard of him ! ” 

“ Why, how could she when I never saw him 
until I was looking for my steamer chair just 
after I got on deck the first morning?” said 
Miss Bilton, who was nothing if not truthful. 
“ Then about noon I saw him sitting all alone. I 
felt sorry for him, he looked sad. I had not begun 
myself to be sea-sick—it was that ailed him. He 
answered me so mournfully (looking back at the 
shore) it reminded me of lines in Childe Harold and 
I quoted them. We got acquainted after that.” 

“ And you have talked by the hour and walked 
the deck ? ” gasped Mrs. Thorne. 

“Just as Miss Coxe and Miss Dwight have.” 

“ But every person they have been with has been 
introduced as a personal friend of Mrs. Van Broek 
whom Miss Coxe has known all her life. Mrs. Van 
Broek is the soul of propriety—and Miss Bilton,” 
groaned Kate, really as shocked as she appeared to 
be, “ you have discussed your personal affairs, and 
his, made plans to meet this total stranger who may 


EMBARKED. 


29 


be a perfect blackleg—a barber—a butcher—a—a— 
the vilest of the vile.” 

“ Why—why—I did not think I was doing any¬ 
thing wrong,” said Miss Bilton, softening toward a 
tearful condition. 

“ He actually—only four days out—told you he 
loved you—not knowing where you yourself came 
from ! ” 

“01 had told him all that and he—he said he could 
not help loving me or he could not if things 
went on.” 

“ Went on ! ” echoed Kate, in scorn ineffable. “ My 
brother will see the puppy, and if he dares to speak 
to you again I will have him thrown overboard,” 
said Kate, who when thoroughly aroused was never 
satisfied with half measures. “ Why, Miss Bilton, 
you astonish me ! For a girl brought up in a city, 
from a family used to refined society—if you came 
from the remote country and knew nothing of 
life— ! ” 

“ Now really, Mrs. Thorne—he never talked that 
way—only that night we hung over the rail, and the 
sparks were flying every which way, I thought of that 
verse about man being born to trouble like sparks fly¬ 
ing up, you know, and I quoted it, and he said this 
was a world of trouble and loving, sympathetic 
natures were rare. You know yourself they are. 
I am sensitive. I should just die without tender¬ 
ness—mamma always said so. He was always just 


30 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


as respectful as could be and we have talked about 
religious things ; he promised to go to church if I 
wanted him to.” 

“ For all you know he is a married man with ten 
children,” said Kate; “ in fact he may have a wife in 
New York and another in Liverpool.” 

Miss Bilton’s mouth stayed half open after she 
asked, “ Do they ever ? ” 

“ Certainly, it is a peculiarity of that sort of man. 
Don’t you know anything of the world ? ” 

“ Not of such folks. Mamma is a perfect lady and 
all our friends are very nice,” said the truly innocent 
young woman, and for an instant Mrs. Thorne felt 
as if challenged to make clear her own social status. 
Instead, she gave a very explicit yet kindly exposi¬ 
tion of what was and was not wise or proper for 
travelling damsels absent from their mothers. 

Miss Bilton received all with great docility. She 
seemed one of the most amiable and truthful persons 
that Kate ever had encountered, and in many com¬ 
plicated experiences Kate never had reason to change 
her opinion. 

Loud sounded the gong from one end of the ship 
to the other. Lunch was ready ; so were troops of 
laughing, wind-blown voyagers who went gaily to the 
dining-room. When Mrs. Thorne and Bertha were 
half way down the stairs they were momentarily 
hindered by an eager crowd about the blackboard, 
on which was marked the rate of speed since the 
previous noon. 


EMBARKED. 


31 


Bertha suddenly grasped Mrs. Thorne’s arm. “If 
Doctor Bruce finds out Mr. Popham is all right, can 
I go to the theatre with him ? ” 

“ Never without your mother’s knowledge or con¬ 
sent to your having him as an acquaintance.” 

“ How decided you are, Mrs. Thorne, but you are 
perfectly sweet. I shall not write mamma a word 
about him. She would worry her life out.” 

“ Which shows you that she would agree with me.” 

“ If I could not talk her over to my opinion ; 
usually I can.” 

The crowd swept on, and soon the tables were 
full. Everybody had the abnormal appetite peculiar 
to the last days of the trip, when game gets high 
and fruit stale. The waiters sped about with count¬ 
less dishes; champagne corks popped. In spots the 
fun was fast and furious. Miss Bilton ate an un¬ 
commonly heavy meal, gazing pensively through the 
near port-hole at such times as the attentive waiter 
was absent for supplies. 

Immediately after lunch Kate took her brother to 
a retired corner, and after rehearsing Miss Bilton’s 
confidences, evidently expected him to brain Mr. 
Popham without delay. He merely tittered in an 
exasperating manner, remarking, “ Miss Bilton is a 
trifle soft, Kate, and probably the man meant no 
harm. Perhaps he is another of the same sort. 
Nature often turns them out in pairs. I can’t agree 
to kill him, but I will hunt him up and give him a 


32 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


hint. Seems to me though that you have been 
rather remiss as chaperon. In matters like this pre¬ 
vention is better than cure.” 

“You gave me to understand, Tom, that Miss 
Bilton had found an old acquaintance. It is all 
your fault.” 

Tom discovered a school of “ porpuses ” just then. 
No one else could sight them, so he joined the pur¬ 
ser who happened to come by, and Kate saw him no 
more until the preparatory gong for dinner. She 
was deep in a novel of Kingsley and had forgotten 
Miss Bilton’s existence. The Doctor remarked : 
“ The purser pointed out Brother Popham and I drew 
him into a conversation. He is not ‘ so devil as he 
is black/ as the Portuguese proverb has it. We 
were talking about Americans abroad, and I asked 
him if he would like his boys educated in foreign 
schools. He fell into the trap and said no—that the 
common schools at home were better. Actually he 
quoted Mrs. Popham s opinion on the subject. I 
brought it around rather neatly about my connection 
with “ our six.” He is no fool. He will not ten¬ 
derly commune with Miss Bilton in the future.” 

“ Well, I hope Miss Bilton will profit by this ex¬ 
perience—Tom, hereafter at night you need not mind 
the smoke-stacks, but go along the rail and watch for 
sparks .” 

Tom’s amazement caused him to look almost 
idiotic. 


EMBARKED. 


33 


“ For the phosphorescence , and who is watching it.” 
“ O, I thought you were rather slangy.” 

Mrs. Thorne did not deign to reply, but returned 
to Hypatia . 

The days went by one much like another, until at 
last the voyage was ended. 


CHAPTER THIRD. 


HOW DOCTOR TOM CONDUCTED. 

“ XT OW, Kate, you are old enough to exercise 
^ common-sense,” said Dr. Bruce, with the 
affectionate directness of a near relative. 

“You must go to bed and sleep off that nervous 
headache. Jupiter, what a horrid, chilly climate ! 
It is the first of June, yejt cold shivers are running up 
my spine. Here, I will ring for somebody to remove 
all that frizzled tissue paper in the grate, and you 
shall have a fire to cheer drooping spirits.” 

“ I must not stay at home to enjoy it,” said Mrs. 
Thorne, looking longingly at the huge bed that re¬ 
sembled in size and hangings the catafalque of some 
departed hero. Tom’s glance following his sister’s, 
he muttered : “ Wretched object—all those cur¬ 
tains—unwholesome to the last degree.” 

“Yes, so they must be, though I was not thinking 
of germs, but of all the stuff that dreams are made 
of lurking in their folds. Fancy the nightmares that 
might materialize and descend on me—left over, 
you know, from the nocturnal menageries of former 
tourists.” 


34 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


35 


“ The beds themselves need not be better. Here, 
Kate, swallow this powder, and you will soon feel 
well.” 

While Tom measured it out, Kate looked anx¬ 
iously at her hat and gloves. Tom remarked: 
“You are not going, Kate. Tell me where to take 
them, and we will be off at once. There can be no 
easier city on earth than London to get about in. 
New York is a labyrinth in comparison.” 

The hotel room seemed just then such a haven of 
rest to Mrs. Thorne that she yielded, saying : “ They 
have done a good bit (as these English say) of sight¬ 
seeing since arriving. The Pollocks suggested to¬ 
day that something lighter would be agreeable.” 

“ They are never stingy with suggestions,” grinned 
Tom. “ You ought to have seen Polly, Senior, to-day. 
She sent a hall boy with thripence for a tuppence 
ha’ penny stamp, and he thought she meant him to 
keep the ha’ penny. Her face was a study, as fine 
writers say.” 

“ I never shall join you in these strictures on our 
friends,” said Kate, virtuously. 

“ I don’t ask you to, dear. I’m equal to the thing 
all alone. If you do the correct, I will agree to sup¬ 
ply the purely human element in our partnership. 
Yes, let us see—if they had the British Museum this 
morning they do need relaxation. You have done 
Madame Tussaud’s—and feeding monkeys in the 
Zoo is plebeian.” 


36 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ Look in the morning paper. Here is one,” said 
Kate. 

The Doctor scanned its columns, while a deft maid 
quickly took the ornamental paper from the grate, 
put wood and coal in its place, secretly reflecting 
that Americans were all extravagant and cold-blooded. 
When the door shut behind her, Tom exclaimed : 
“ Here is the very thing! It will take them all off 
your hands until bedtime. It is one of those spec¬ 
tacular performances. Don’t you remember I took 
you over to Jersey once to see the siege of Jerusa¬ 
lem ? ” 

“ Yes, that would amuse them.” 

“ But this is different, better possibly ; at any rate, 
it reads well,” said Tom, reading: 


VENICE AT OLYMPIA. 


IMRE KIRALFY’S SUPERB SPECTACLE. 


VENICE : THE BRIDE OF THE SEA. 


GRAND SPECTACULAR DRAMA. 


HISTORIC. ROMANTIC. POETIC. OPERATIC. 


1400 PERFORMERS. 


THRILLING HISTORICAL EPISODES. 


TRIUMPHAL CHORUSES. 


IMPOSING PROCESSIONS. 









HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


37 


BEAUTIFUL DANCES. 

LOVELY ITALIAN MUSIC. AQUATIC CARNIVALS. 

REAL CANALS AND GONDOLAS. 

GORGEOUS STATE BARGES. 

VIVID REALISMS. MARVELLOUS EFFECTS. 

IMRE KIRA LEY, OF “ NERO ” FAME, AUTHOR AND 

PRODUCER. 

“ That will do,” said Kate. “ Now, you go down 
to the hall porter and find out the how, the when, and 
the where, then come back for final instructions.” 

The Doctor arose, yawned prodigiously, then sur¬ 
veyed himself in the long mirror on the wardrobe 
door. He gave an especially complacent glance at 
the last creation of a Bond Street tailor in the form 
of a new coat. 

“ It is rather becoming and a good fit, Tom.” 

“ Yes, madam, I flatter myself it is. Well, now I 
go forth, and with me go feminine airs and graces by 
the half dozen. It may seem liberal measure for one 
man.” 

“ Oh, no,” said his sister, malevolently. “ Every¬ 
body will take Mrs. Flori for your wife, Mrs. Pollock, 
Senior, for your mother, and then there are your 
three lovely daughters.” 

Tom sat abruptly down. 

“ I won’t play.” 







38 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ Nonsense ! Hurry right along! The afternoon 
is half gone now; and, Tom, remember several 
things : don’t you dare to be one shade more polite 
to one of the six than you are to another, unless you 
are especially attentive to the old lady.” 

Tom was guilty of a grimace. 

“ If I find you can learn to take them about in my 
stead sometimes, it will be an immense relief. But, 
Thomas, whatever you do, don't use your judgment 
when you have n’t got any. Just ask somebody what 
you want to know. Self-confidence is your ‘ upset- 

. • • y yy 

ting sin. 

In a withering tone which withered not a bit Tom 
compared this slow-going old town with his busy na¬ 
tive city, and thought he would not get lost, then 
he departed. He came back soon with full details, 
The show was out Kensington way. It took time, 
and the gorgeous part was in the evening. They 
could start from the St. James station of the Metro¬ 
politan road, which was close by their hotel. 

“ That is nice, for none of them have been on the 
underground,” said Kate. “ They were asking me 
about it to-day ; as a rule I always avoid it, but they 
must know what it is like.” 

“ Of course, only I shall not begin by answering 
no end of questions about it, as you do, Kate. It is 
enough merely to announce that we are going to a 
place of amusement which will please and surprise 
them.” 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


39 


“ I answer questions because I ought to give them 
the benefit of any more knowledge I have than they 
may possess,” she meekly added. “ Oh, Tom, tell 
the Pollocks at the outset that it is not an ‘ extra,’ 
like operas or theatres, or they won’t be real happy 
about going. Now start! They were all to meet 
me in the drawing-room. You must take the blame 
of my staying home.” 

“ O, we don’t need you,” returned the Doctor, 
cheerfully, “ and I don’t want Baedeker either, do I ? 
I have all my wits and ‘ ici on parle ’ English without 
any fail.” 

“ Stop, Tom, to tell the head waiter—Well, what 
will you tell him ? ” 

“ Why, the porter says there are fine restaurants 
out there, so I will remark to that Pomposity who 
presides in the dining-hall that we will be conspicu¬ 
ously absent from the evening banquet.” 

“Yes, good-by, dear!” 

“Adieu, beloved—now go to bed.” 

“ Say, Tom, you must buy first-class tickets, and 
take good care of them all.” 

“Of course; what do you take me for? I am 
aware it is their funeral. My own fun is not the 
motive power that is setting my works going just 
now.” 

“ Tom, you must be as lively as you are on the 
elevated at home.” 

“ Of course.” 


40 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“And ask if you change trains.” 

“All right,” and the door closed after a man who 
felt virtuous that he had not growled. Women fuss 
so endlessly over trifles. 

The ladies were all in the drawing-room, where 
everyone else knew them to be Americans by the fit 
of their trim gowns and their dainty shoes. Tom ap¬ 
proved of them. The Pollocks expressed deep re¬ 
gret at Mrs. Thorne’s headache, but Florida, in a 
sprightly tone, promised to make the Doctor’s cares 
as light as possible. 

“Where are we going, Doctor Bruce?” asked 
Dolly Coxe, pushing her finger into her Barraitz 
glove. 

“ I will take you a trip on the underground, then 
I’ve a fine plan, nothing heavy.” 

“ Buffalo Bill? ” quoth Dolly. “ That is what the 
aristocracy rave about over here, they say.” 

“ No, but it is a place of amusement. Ready, 
ladies ? ” 

Mrs. Pollock, Senior, fell into place with Mrs. 
Bushby. With common consent the three girls 
joined forces, and Mrs. Florida fell to Tom. She 
always stalked with a singular stiffness, except about 
her neck and head. She seemed able to turn her 
head quite around on her flexible neck, so she 
seldom lost sight of anything going on in any 
quarter. 

“ Where do you find a station ? ” asked Harriet 


HOW DR, TOM CONDUCTED. 


41 


Dwight, but no one knew save Tom, who was look¬ 
ing sharply for any sign of one. He turned so 
suddenly in at a wide door that no more questions 
were asked. They quickly followed him down a 
long staircase into what seemed a great, dimly 
lighted tunnel. By each wall was a wide platform, 
having benches, paper stands, and between the plat¬ 
forms were railway tracks. 

“ Now, ladies there need not be the least con¬ 
fusion if you only act quickly. I will buy the 
tickets, find out which train we take, then when it 
rolls up here dart immediately for a car with first- 
class on the door. Be sure every one of you gets in 
for you can see what trouble it would make if one 
were left behind. It is very simple.” 

Kate had often remarked how easily she could 
conduct these six, because in an emergency, or in 
fact at any time, they did instantly what she told 
them, asking why afterwards. She got them into 
carriages, trains, and trams as if the six were one. 

Tom strolled up to the office to buy seven first- 
class tickets. He could not yet reckon rapidly in 
English currency, but he put down ten shillings 
gold, and was glad it proved more than enough. 

“ What train do I take for—for—Venice ? ” he 
stammered, and expected the crowd behind him 
would roar. 

“ Venice at Olympia,” cheerfully repeated the 
ticket agent. “ Guard will tell you ! By some 


4 ^ 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


trains you change, by others not. There comes one 
train now.” 

Tom clutched his tiny tickets and rushed to his 
charge. In rolled the train, and his flock were 
exactly opposite dirty third-class carriages full of 
workmen and smokers. 

“ Hurry—down there ! ” cried Dolly Coxe. “ We 
should have stood under the placard marked ‘ ist 
class.’ ” 

Down the platform fled the seven, Tom thinking: 
“ True Yankee girl that! She had been one minute 
down here and found out the ropes.” 

Doors were slamming as they reached the first- 
class carriages. All were more or less full, but like 
lightning the ladies darted in, and when Tom saw 
Mrs. Pollock, Senior, nearly seat herself in the lap of 
a frigid, side-whiskered Briton he could have cried : 
“ Bravo ! ” 

A second after he was in the seat of another com¬ 
partment which though two or three removed from 
the rest was entirely empty. It was second-class in 
fact, but for that he did not care. While the train 
moved smoothly along in the semi-darkness odorous 
of coal gas, Tom leaned back muttering approv¬ 
ingly: “The chickens pretty quickly cooped that 
time if Kate was not along ! I vow I never asked if 
we changed trains; but when the guard opens the 
door and yells the name of the next station I will 
find out.” 


HO IV DR. TOM CONDUCTED . 


43 


He mused serenely about various matters until the 
train began to go slower, nearing another long plat¬ 
form full of hurrying people. Tom heard men shout¬ 
ing, but no guard, no porters appeared. He looked 
eagerly for the name of the station, but only to see 
in huge letters, “ Stephen’s Ink,” then “ Beecham’s 
Pills,” and as doors slammed and the train moved, 
“ Fry’s Cocoa.” 

“Confound it! How will I know when to get 
out ; I may be taken past the station where we 
should change.” 

This was the first of Tom’s rapidly succeeding 
unpleasant reflections. The second was: “ Kate 
told me that whenever we had to separate I was to 
see that every young girl had a chaperon, and I vow 
I saw Dolly Coxe dart one way all alone and little 
Bilton another. The Pollocks fled together, and 
where Miss Dwight or Mrs. Bushby is passes me to 
tell.” 

Later came more surprising facts to mind. 

Mrs. Pollock arose from the Briton’s lap in trem¬ 
ulous horror, and reseating herself nearly effaced 
the smallest of four small boys in charge of a pretty 
nurse-maid. Florida let down the window and 
revolved her head in a vain effort to see Doctor 
Bruce or any of the others. She fancied she caught 
a glimpse of Mrs. Bushby’s hat just being withdrawn 
from another window. 

Dolly Coxe had popped into a carriage occupied 


44 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


by a ponderous British matron massively attired, 
a pink-and-white maiden gravely timid, evidently her 
daughter, and a proper maid who carried their bags, 
and who breathed respectful decorum from every 
pore. An old man, two dull-looking younger ones, 
and another in the obscurity of a corner filled the 
carriage. All studied Dolly with ruminant stolidity, 
the matron glancing apprehensively at her daughter, 
as if it was slightly improper in Dolly to open such 
exceedingly blue eyes, to wear so “ smart ” a gown, 
and to have it fit her like a glove. Dolly perked and 
preened a second, after the manner of our girls when 
they first alight in a public place; then she leaned 
back as if equal to what the gods would send. Soon 
after she too discovered that no guard appeared, 
although she detected the name of the stations on 
bench-back, lamp, and wall. Trust those blue eyes 
to miss nothing. 

Suddenly she looked in the palm of her grey 
glove, in her lap, down to the tips of her kid boots. 

“ Have you lost your ticket?” asked the old man, 
who liked her crisp prettiness. 

“ Why—well—I have lost it if I ever had any. I 
really can’t tell if I had. What difference does it 
make ? ” 

“ Not much, miss, only you will ’ave to pay the 
ticket man as you go up at the station you stop at.” 

“ But I don’t know where I am going to,” ex¬ 
plained Dolly, and at the thought burst into laughter. 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED . 45 

“What is your station?” the old man asked 
gruffly. 

“ How can I tell? Nobody told me. I’ingoing 
to some place of amusement.” And she shook with 
fun, her eyes getting brighter, her cheeks redder, 
while the blood seemed to freeze in the veins of the 
matron opposite There was silence full of disap¬ 
proval. The young lady looked in her lap, the 
prim companion turned her virtuous countenance 
toward the outer darkness. 

Her gay laugh out, Dolly nonchalantly enlight¬ 
ened them : “ The friends I am going with are in 

some other carriage. I missed them by getting in 
here.” 

“ Oh,” grunted the old man, “ then they ’ll look 
you up all right.” 

At that the feminine part of the company again 
allowed their gaze to rest upon her—on every detail 
of her person and attire. She was of course an¬ 
other type of the wild West, for was not Buffalo 
Bill making known to them everything American? 
Perhaps she was not depraved but merely un- 
English, though with mothers like this one it 
amounted to much the same thing. 

“ Suppose I miss them again, what will I do 
then?” suddenly questioned Dolly, turning to the 
old man with the same off-hand confidence she 
would have shown to her grandfather. He weakly 
allowed himself to believe in her (his wife being 


46 


LOVE AND SHA IVL-STRAPS. 


absent), and so he said : “ Well, miss—in that case 

you had better go back where you came from.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” cried Dolly, in a perfect convul¬ 
sion of giggles. “ I have not the remotest idea where 
that was! ” 

This was the last straw that broke the back of 
that indignant maternal animal opposite. She re¬ 
solved to remove her blushing offspring at the next 
station. 

A creature without paying for her passage to 
enter a train, not knowing where she was going— 
actually daring to pretend she knew not whence she 
came! The mother applied her lavender salts to her 
daughter’s modest little nose, while the maid seemed 
trying to shrink into a state where sight and hearing 
could not obtain. Dolly laughed until she must 
wipe tears out of eyes like wild violets wet with dew. 
Not until she tucked away her French-worked hand¬ 
kerchief into her elegant belt-bag did she take the 
trouble to leisurely remark: “ You see that we are 
at a hotel, and I never was on the underground 
road before, so I just followed Doctor Bruce.” 
The old man was about to speak again, when she 
gurgled out laughingly : “ If I only knew what place 
of amusement we had started for, I would go there 
alone. I could have a regular lark letting him think 
he had lost me.” 

The lady being now in an almost unconscious 
state, the old man said rather ironically : “ Is 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


4; 


it too much to suppose that you can tell the name 
of your hotel ? " 

“ Yes, that I do know ; for in New York we would 
think it a one-horse sort of an establishment, though 
as hotels over here go I presume it is fair. The 
Westminster Palace Hotel—by no means palatial." 

“ Humph ! ” ejaculated her questioner, with an air 
of touching ground at last. “ Then you got on at 
the St. James station, no doubt, and the best thing 
you can do is to get off and go back there. It is but 
a bit of a walk to your hotel." 

“Yes, I suppose so, but in the meantime I shall 
just go right on. If they don’t find me, at least I 
will go far enough to pay for the bother and have 
some fun." 

“ But let me tell you, miss," said the old man, 
with the solemn air of one who utters a clincher, 
“ that every station you pass increases the price of 
your ticket when you have to return." 

“Oh, that is nothing!" said Dolly, who never 
dreamed from his earnestness that the question was 
one of pence; so she added lightly, “ I have two or 
three pounds in my purse; that will be enough, I 
guess." 

Nothing short of profanity could have produced 
more of an impression. It was scarcely possible for 
the inmates of the carriage after that to realize that 
Providence had made of one blood them and the 
race of “ guessing " money-wasters. 


43 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS . 


No one said anything more. They rolled along 
now in darkness, now emerging into half light. The 
dark figure in the corner of the carriage on Dolly’s 
side leaned forward and studied her carefully. The 
matron became convinced that he had designs on 
the funds before mentioned so recklessly. If he had 
it was none of her business, or did duty compel her 
to warn this singularly improper young person ? As 
she was about to remove her daughter from demoral¬ 
izing influences, she ought, perhaps, to act conscien¬ 
tiously. The train halted, madam arose, waved out 
her child, dispatched her Abigail, then in passing 
Dolly uttered, with the affability of a Sphinx, these 
words: “Beware of pickpockets.” 

Dolly never knew what a triumph of principle over 
prejudice that cast-iron, yet heroic, woman made. 

At the next station Dolly put out her head, saw 
nobody she knew, experienced a little spasm of 
homesickness at the thought of being all alone in 
London—a stranger among millions. Yes, that item 
regarding London’s inhabitants (one of the few facts 
of Dolly’s school days not already dislodged from 
memory) caused her suddenly to spring up and out 
on the platform. She was fully resolved now to go 
directly back to the Westminster Palace Hotel, seek 
Mrs. Thorne, and tell her that her brother might be 
able to deal out pills and plasters, but was an egre¬ 
gious failure as a pilot. 

Springing after her, not one second too soon, 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


49 


leaped the “ end man” of the compartment; then 
the train left them stranded in the twilight and coal 
gas of the tunnel. Dolly’s follower (shades of Mrs. 
Thorne!) was a tall, clean-shaven, clear-cut-faced 
young man, who looked a cross between a clergy¬ 
man and an actor. 

“ I beg your pardon, Miss Coxe, but can I be of 
any help to you ? Perhaps you remember that your 
friend Mrs. Van Broek was kind enough to introduce 
me to you on the steamer.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” exclaimed Dolly, with charming cor¬ 
diality. “You came up at lunch time on deck one 
rough day. The steward had just asked me if I 
‘would take something,’ and before I could answer 
I took a pickle up my sleeve and a cup of chicken 
broth down my back. Wasn’t he the clumsiest fel¬ 
low ! Do you know, Mr.-” 

“ Edgecomb.” 

“ Mr. Edgecomb, that I am lost?" 

“ I do. I heard the harrowing tale from your own 
lips not ten minutes ago.” 

“ Really ! Was that you in the corner? Now, do 
you know, I think those stiff old creatures in that 
place thought there was something queer about me. 
I am sure I look as well as they did. That bonnet 
the lady wore went out of date in New York two 
seasons ago ; but is n’t it utterly absurd to start for 
a place of amusement and have to go forlornly pok¬ 
ing home again ? ” 



50 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“Miss Coxe, may I venture a suggestion ? I 
would not embarrass you by speaking in the car¬ 
riage, but-” 

“ I should not have minded it in the least.” 

“Well, I fancy that I know where Doctor Bruce 
was taking you. (By the way, I got tolerably well 
acquainted with the Doctor in the smoking-room 
coming over.) There is nothing out this way so 
likely to be the place of amusement you speak of as 
* Venice.’ It is the rage now, and they tell me every 
one ought to see it. I am on my way there. It is 
a spectacular drama, quite elegant, really classical. 
—Yes, I am studying for the ministry,” he interpo¬ 
lated, seeing her glance at his clerical coat.—“ Now 
it would give me great pleasure to accompany you 
to the place. It is more than likely you will find 
your friends there, but if we do not, I think you can 
trust a life-long friend of Mrs. Van Broek to bring 
you safely back to the Westminster.” 

“ I will go in a minute. I know it will be fun,” 
quoth Dorothy, pocketing the small card of “ J. 
Everett Edgecomb,” and cheerfully waiting while 
he interviewed some one who could tell him about 
trains. He was back in a moment, and two seconds 
later Miss Coxe and her escort were smilingly taking 
seats in another first-class carriage; both ignoring, 
or both happily oblivious of the fact that an order 
of beings called chaperons existed in polite so¬ 
ciety. If J. Everett Edgecomb knew, he consid- 



HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 51 

ered them luxuries, not necessities, to a free-born 
American. 

And now let us return on the track of our story 
and also of the underground railroad. 

When the Pollocks awoke to the realization of no 
tickets, no guide, and no knowledge of their ultimate 
goal they were very wroth. Florida’s use of vigor¬ 
ous Saxon would have startled Tom, especially in 
the descriptive epithets she applied to him. But 
she talked in an undertone, only giving to the other 
persons in the carriage the impression that the old 
lady must have been guilty of some outrageous 
offense. Still Mrs. Pollock, Junior, was not dismayed, 
for she knew the revolving flash-light of her black eye 
would serve her well. No Tom would alight at any 
station and she not know it. She had not found 
out the names of stations, but no ink, pills, or cocoa 
could divert her attention. So at every halt one half 
her body protruded from the carriage door. 

Mrs. Bushby was a jolly soul in the main ; she had 
a good laugh all to herself, and then keeping silence 
about her dilemma she watched as keenly as Florida. 

Harriet Dwight and Bertha Bilton found them¬ 
selves together. It never would have occurred to 
Bertha that she had no ticket until asked for it, and 
she would have waited to be told to get off before 
leaving the train. Miss Dwight reviewed the situa¬ 
tion coolly before she explained it to her companion, 
who moaned in horror : “ Lost! What would mamma 


52 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


say ! She relied on Mrs. Thorne to take care of me. 
What can we do ! ” 

“ I don’t mind being lost, nor losing the Doctor, 
nor having no ticket, but it is idiotic not to know 
where one is going. If I knew that, I could take 
care of myself; then I do not understand these trains. 
I read in my guide-book that some go round what is 
called the inner circle and some go around an outer 
circle.” 

“ How awful that sounds,” suddenly blubbered 
Bertha, adding in her own irrelevant way, “it is just 
like the beginning of Dante in the translation, you 
know.” 

“ What is ? ” 

“ Why the inner and the outer circles, and spirits 
forever sweeping around them, lovers in torment, 
and Virgil and Beatrice-” 

“Nonsense, I don’t propose to sweep around for¬ 
ever on this underground road. At least we can go 
home. We started from the station near the West¬ 
minster Palace Hotel, but I don’t mean to go home.” 

With entire composure Harriet turned to an in¬ 
telligent lady near her and summed up matters in 
the fewest words possible, asking if there was any 
one place of amusement or interest out this way 
more frequented than any other. In case they 
missed their friends on the way, they might by going 
on meet them at such a place. 

“ Well, Kensington Museum is out here farther 



HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


53 


on, but I scarcely think that the attraction— Oh, 
I fancy you are started for Venice at Olympia ! Get 
out at the next station but one; directly you stop 
you will find another train ; tell the guard you are 
bound for Venice and you will get along beautifully. 
If you find no friends the two of you can look about 
a bit and get back home then before dark.” 

Harriet Dwight thanked her. Bertha looked still 
apprehensive of circles ; the train rushed on. 

When Tom had reached the point of doubt bor¬ 
dering on imbecility—doubt as to whether he would 
do better to get out or to stay in, a man entered the 
carriage. In answer to Tom’s queries he told him 
he must get off the train at the next station and 
board another. 

“ Let me see,” thought the Doctor, “ all the six 
are back of me. I must spring out, make a rush, 
and call out every one from whatever carriage she 
may be ; that will fetch it beautifully.” 

Now no plan would have worked more perfectly 
had not Tom been mistaken. All the six were in 
carriages ahead of his. Before the train stopped, in 
defiance of rules, he leaped out to speed nimbly 
down the platform, every instant farther from his 
charge. 

“ Mother ! Mother, fly ! ” cried Florida, and like a 
falcon from a mediaeval gauntlet went Flori for her 
prey, “ Mother ” in pursuit, and Mrs. Bushby hard 
behind, puffing yet triumphant. 


54 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


Tom reached the end of the train as that end was 
removing itself, melting into the smoke of the 
beyond. 

“ Lost ! Lost! I’ve lost every soul of them ! ” he 
gasped, a cold perspiration starting out all over him. 
Then he turned to find himself almost in the out¬ 
stretched arms of three widows. Even as he read 
the joy on their three faces he grew more weak- 
kneed, for here, gray-haired, able to take care of 
themselves, were all his chaperons—and the young 
ones, where were they ? 

“Now, Doctor Bruce! You did not give us the 
slip that time,” prattled Flori. “ We might have 
given you the chance to escape us if only you had 
expressed us through, properly labelled, or supplied 
us with tickets.” 

“Where on earth are those girls ?” groaned the 
Doctor, gazing at the hole in the far end of the tun¬ 
nel into which they must have vanished. “ They 
ought to have changed trains here—that is if they 
had known where they were going.” 

“ Which not one of them does know,” put in Mrs. 
Bushby, merrily. “ And so they may keep right on 
to the very limit of this tight little island—go to 
Liverpool or to Wales.” 

“ Don’t you worry one bit, Doctor ! ” cried Flori. 
“ Dolly Coxe will never come to grief. She is as 
sharp as a bamboo briar. That Bilton girl might not 
come to hand again if Miss Dwight was not with her. 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


55 


but she is, and she is twenty-four (almost as old as 
I am) and can act as chaperon just as well. She is 
so self-possessed she could go around the world ; no 
doubt they will all get together and go home.” 

“ Then perhaps we ought to return and—and— 
prepare Mrs. Thorne.” 

“ Not at all, Doctor,” put in Mrs. Florida. “ If—I 
mean when they get there she will understand and 
will never worry about us ; but if we get back first 
she would die of fright about them.” 

“ Then again, they may find out where we are 
going and go,” said Mrs. Bushby. 

“ That is impossible.” 

“ For a man it would be, but not for Dolly or 
Harriet. You can’t lose a girl unless she wants to 
get lost. I agree with Mrs. Pollock that we might 
better just go on.” 

The three ladies turned as if the thing was settled 
and promptly inquired, “ What train next ? ” 

They made by tacit consent a triangle about Tom, 
out of whose imaginary sides he would do well if 
he escaped. They heard the guard who told him 
what to do, and on the arrival of a train they en¬ 
sconced themselves, one at each of his elbows and 
one opposite. He felt sure of himself—and of them 
but not really happy. He thought of Kate ill at 
home with a headache—of certain vainglorious words 
he had spoken. 

The three ladies, however, were in the very best 


56 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


of spirits. They catechised the Doctor, and he told 
them in full all he knew about Venice, which was 
really not much. It was nearly dark when they 
arrived at the station and came out once more into 
the air. Mrs. Pollock, Junior, suggested that it 
might be best for them to get their dinner at once 
and “have done with it,” then they “could take 
things as they came.” 

The motion was carried by acclamation just near 
a very elegant-looking restaurant towards which 
Tom felt himself being conducted. He resolved to 
yield to circumstances. The dining hall was as 
pretty as a jewel box, the small tables elegantly 
laid. At least half a dozen differently shaped wine 
glasses were by each cover, and for each person’s 
delectation was a tiny gilded gondola freighted with 
English violets. 

The Doctor chose a seat commanding a view of 
the pavement made bright by electric lights. The 
ladies studied the menu and consulted with the at¬ 
tendants in evening dress elaborate enough for a 
wedding. 

The appearance of some delicious un-English- 
looking chicken croquettes made Tom basely forget¬ 
ful of his late shortcoming. He resolved to enjoy 
his dinner, and later let Fate do her worst. 

It was a cosy retreat and the ladies were very en¬ 
tertaining. Mrs. Bushby had plenty of stories of 
war times, as she had been in camp with the “ Gen- 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


57 


eral ” ; Florida was quite funny and frivolous. The 
old lady took a glass of wine to ward off a chill. 
Two little red spots came in her white countenance 
and a bright and genial flush on the tip of her frosty 
nose. The three ladies discussed the matter of the 
lost girls so variously during the courses that Tom 
was temporarily convinced that it was the best thing 
that could have happened to them. The contretemps 
would teach them self-reliance. So soothed and sus¬ 
tained he enjoyed his dinner, settled a bill as impos¬ 
ing in its way as the attire of the waiters, and once 
more all started. They had not far to go. Within 
a stone’s throw were bought the tickets which let 
them into—moonlight and Italy: an electric moon 
mildly beaming from a plausible blue firmament. 
Canals there were, too, as broad, as winding, and 
every bit as watery as if their source was the Adri¬ 
atic. Softly slopping around in them were veritable 
black gondolas propelled by Italian craftsmen as 
gracefully skilful and much more cleanly picturesque 
than if they were at home. The ladies were enchanted, 
for all about them were brilliantly lighted bazaars— 
Salviati’s full of exquisite glass, every shelf and table 
glowing as if countless rainbows and myriads of 
tinted bubbles were heaped up or shattered in glories 
of golden, blue, crimson, amber, and purple. The 
contents of all the shops around the square of San 
Marco seemed transported hither. Mrs. Bushby went 
suddenly daft over a window full of mosaic jewelry 


58 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


and paper weights. The Pollocks were filled with 
delight in the presence of gorgeous Roman silk 
blankets—with amaze at the fact that certain yellow 
and scarlet ones were not quite two dollars. 

“ Doctor,” exclaimed Flori, excitedly, “ think of 
it! Only eight liars ! ” 

“ Where? Who?” he asked with a wild fancy 
that she meant the party was made up of one Ana¬ 
nias and seven Sapphiras. 

“ This lovely blanket! I can read Italian money, 
I studied it coming over. One liar is twenty cents 
—they spell it lira—so eight liars is one sixty. 
These would make beautiful drapery for couches at 
home. We could even use them for wraps as we 
travel.” 

A sudden mental snap-shot left on Tom’s mind a 
picture of Mrs. Pollock,J unior, striding along wrapped 
in one like a Sioux squaw. He promptly advised : 
“ Don’t buy them here, they are made in Italy, and 
only cost a—what you call it or two there.” 

This seemed reasonable, and just then the three 
espied a bazaar full of souvenir spoons. Five seconds 
after the lively salesman had out his velvet show- 
cloth, and on it big spoons and little spoons with 
the Florentine devil, the lion of St. Mark, the tower 
of Pisa, even the wolf with Romulus and Remus im¬ 
bibing nourishment in a small way on the tip end of 
the handle. Tom waited impatiently for them to 
buy a half dozen and come along. He was patheti- 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED . 


59 


cally unconscious as he leaned against the doorway, 
opposite a life-size painted and gilded wooden satyr, 
that this was the small beginning. They were ac¬ 
quiring facts about spoons, not buying them. He 
would assist in this sort of educational shopping 
times without number all over the continent. Hav¬ 
ing examined several dozen critically, the Pollocks 
thought it advisable to return if they cared to pur¬ 
chase, but on coming out by the Rialto all three 
agreed the silver was light weight and sharp-edged. 

“ Oh, mamma, there it is just as we have seen it in 
pictures, and Shylock had his butcher shop under the 
Rialto, did n’t he, Doctor? ” 

“ His what, Mrs. Pollock?” 

“ Oh, have I got all mixed up thinking about a 
pound of meat ? Well, you know what I mean, 
Othello and Desdemona are in it—that play of 
Shakespeare’s.” 

“Yes, this is the Rialto. Shylock the Jew had 
his place near by ; he was a money lender. Really 
the illusion is wonderful. I am afraid we will be 
disappointed in Venice the original,” Tom managed 
to remark, pretending not to see the face Mrs. Bushby 
made at him. 

They were now close to the water’s edge, and a 
brigandish-looking gondolier marked them for his 
own. The long black boat swept along by their 
side, and he helped in the ladies, Tom wisely think¬ 
ing he would refrain from help lest he cast some- 


6o 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS . 


body overboard. Then off they went, slowly mov¬ 
ing past the gay bazaars, in front of very creditable 
palaces, which, if one were in the believing mood of 
the marchioness with her lemonade, might pass for 
the ancient abode of Grimani, Camerlengi, or Papa- 
dopole. The ladies were enchanted. They gave 
little squeals of rapture when out from a bridge 
came another boat gay with colored lanterns, full of 
musicians playing flutes, fiddles, and guitars. These 
glided away under the Bridge of Sighs, and then 
from beneath a balcony burst forth the chorus 
known to every Venetian and every lover of boat 
songs: “ Fnnicula : Vamo !—V a mo ! ” 

“ Doctor ! Doctor Bruce ! ” cried Mrs. Flori. “ Do 
you see that house that looks as if there was a faded 
pink patchwork bedspread down the side—the big 
one ! 

“Palazzo Ducale—Riva degli Shiavoni gurgled 
the gondolier, thinking she sought information. 

“ As sure as I am alive that is Bertha Bilton in 
the boat near it, and Harriet Dwight, and a man.” 

Long after the women saw, Tom, man-like, was 
gazing all abroad, from the sham clock tower to the 
artificial heavens above and pipe-conducted waters 
below. He did get one glimpse of Miss Dwight’s 
serene countenance, but only as her gondolier swept 
her around one corner and Tom’s shot easily around 
another. 

“ I believe I saw the man she is with on the 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


6 1 


steamer. He sat by me the night of the entertain¬ 
ment for the Sailors’ Orphan Asylum,” deposed 
Mrs. Bushby. 

“That explains it all,” said Mrs. F. Pollock. “ I 
had a friend who crossed last year and got ac¬ 
quainted with a lot of folks, especially gentlemen, 
on the steamer. She said you were forever meeting 
them. It was like Pharaoh’s frogs and the children 
of Israel—always just everywhere—turning up with 
tallow candles in the catacombs, on camels’ backs 
in the desert, in the next berth on the Channel if you 
were sea-sick, and forever meeting you in their best 
clothes if you ever looked particularly dilapidated.” 

“Two of them heard from,” mused the Doctor, 
“ or at least known to be in existence at the present 
moment.” 

“We told you so,” said Flori. 

“ But you did not know the facts.” 

“ But I knew women, and they rise superior to 
facts at any time.” 

“ I hear an orchestra, and people are crowding 
over the main bridge,” suggested Mrs. Bushby. 
“ Don’t you think the performance, whatever it is, 
may be about to begin.” 

“Yes, it is nearly time,” answered Tom, looking 
at his tickets. “ Our seats are reserved, but ought 
we not to look up the girls? ” 

“ We will be most likely to see them among the 
people if all are seated,” said Mrs. Pollock, Senior. 


62 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


This being reasonable, Tom paid the boatman, 
and they followed the crowd. They entered an im¬ 
mense amphitheatre easily capable of holding five 
thousand people, and the seats were filling fast. 
Opposite was a wide long stage, showing the square 
of San Marco, the Doge’s Palace, and between the 
spectators and the other shore rolled the broadest 
part of the Grand Canal. Almost immediately the 
performance began. It seemed to be a medley of 
The Merchant of Venice , scenes from ancient Vene¬ 
tian life, the marriage of the Doge to the Adriatic, 
and, in short, every sort of a show which could be 
connected with Venice. There were at times a 
thousand actors on the land and water. Gorgeous 
triumphal processions of state gondolas ; everything 
that the programme promised. The ladies settled 
themselves to undisturbed enjoyment, but the Doc¬ 
tor studied the audience with reproachful thoughts 
of the youngest and prettiest of his flock. He re¬ 
called a pathetic hymn slightly altered to “ Where 
is my wandering girl to-night ? ” 

Suddenly, far down the building, he caught sight 
of a fluttering handkerchief, then a girlish figure 
half rising from her seat. It was Dorothy Coxe! 
She saw him, bowed, smiled—and, turning, made 
laughing explanations to a gentleman. Another! 
What would Kate say ! 

“Well, she is alive and apparently happy,” said 
Tom. “ I will rush out before the thing closes and 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


63 


nab her and the others as they pass the door into 
the street.” Then he yielded to the gymnastic fas¬ 
cinations of six or seven hundred Venetian girls 
done in all the colors of the rainbow, and dancing to 
a wonderful rhythmic measure. 

Time passed. The Pollocks declared themselves 
delighted. The show was over. 

Doctor Bruce explained to the ladies his proposed 
tactics, and hastening ahead got himself to the main 
exit. There he stood scanning every person who 
passed. His party purposely lingered at the bazaars. 
Hundreds had gone out before Flori came shaking 
her head as if to say, “ Not a trace of them.” 

They loitered until a policeman as large as Goliath 
forbade any one blocking the way. 

“ Those girls always carry their purses. They 
know they came from the Westminster Palace Hotel 
and they are as sure to come home as cats,” said Mrs. 
Bushby. 

“Yes, and it is our duty to go home and prepare 

* 

Mrs. Thorne’s mind,” put in Florida. 

Tom had a dim recollection that she had seen 
their duty in another light before the entertain¬ 
ment, but he followed the procession of three who 
started promptly for the station. They reached 
the hotel in good order. Tom turned in the vesti¬ 
bule to consult how they had best break the news 
to Kate. A porter had stopped him a second to ask 
if a telegram was his. They were all ascending in 


64 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


the elevator. A fleeting view of Florida’s boots 
nearly to the ceiling was the last he saw of any of 
them that evening. A pang went through his manly 
breast. Human beings ought to stand by one an¬ 
other in trouble. 

Kate was looking very bright. Gaslight and fire¬ 
light made the room brilliant. 

“ You don’t know how well I feel now I have slept 
my headache off. The maid brought me a dainty 
little supper, and I have been reading Hare’s Walks 
about Rome , getting ideas to put in practice. Was 
the thing good ? ” 

“ Grand.” 

“ Did they enjoy it ? ” 

“ Oh, famously ! ” 

“ Have any trouble ? ” 

“ Well—we all got there—but that underground 
is a beastly mode of locomotion.” 

“ How—why—are not any of them coming in to 
talk it over ? ” 

When a man clears his throat and runs his fingers 
through his hair, looking past a woman at bureaus 
or pictures, that woman scents treason, stratagem 
or—some sort of masculine iniquity. A few ques¬ 
tions, and Kate had the facts. She sprang from 
her chair, seized her bonnet, exclaimed : “ We must 
go right back. I will wait at the nearest station. 
You must return—then come back, and we will 
consult the police.” 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 65 

There was a tap at the door. Tom opened. 
Dorothy Coxe entered, rosy, dimpling, giggling. 

“O Mrs. Thorne! Such fun! We lost Dr. 
Bruce”—(Tom could have hugged her for mak¬ 
ing him objective, instead of the subject of her 
sentence) ; “ but you know the wind always is tem¬ 
pered to the shorn lamb ! Before I had bleated out 
a single baa! who should appear but Mr. J. Everett 
Edgecomb. I knew him through the Van Broeks. 
Don’t look distressed, Mrs. Thorne, he is awfully 
good and pious, though in a real swell way—going to 
be a clergyman. Not that he was solemn ; we did 
not have time; for I wanted some fun and I knew it 
was all right and proper; for when you have the 
benefit of the clergy things always are. We saw 
everything. I brought you the dearest little spoon, 
with a gold gondola on top, because you, poor thing, 
could not go. Was not the performance gorgeous, 
Doctor? Mr. Edgecomb said tell you, Mrs. Thorne, 
he would give himself the pleasure of calling on you, 
if you would honor him with your acquaintance, or 
words to that elegant effect. He is kind of Lord 
Chesterfield and Johnsonian if you don’t take the 
airs out of him. I did it pretty well in the time 
allowed me. Oh, you missed lots, Mrs. Thorne! 
Where are the rest ? ” 

“ Dorothy,” groaned Mrs. Thorne, who secretly 
was lighter-hearted, “ he lost all the younger ones." 

Dolly’s laughter had not ceased to peal forth when 
5 


66 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


again there came a tap on the door. She flew to open 
it. Miss Dwight entered, followed by Miss Bilton. 

Miss Dwight went to the heart of the matter at 
once after a glance at the Doctor. 

“ Doctor Bruce has told you how we got separated. 
Miss Bilton and I met a gentleman who was on 
the steamer. I knew him there for a friend and 
classmate of my cousin in Amherst. He was intro¬ 
duced to me once at a Boston symphony concert. 
He is to be trusted. He took care of us. I wish 
you had gone, so you could have told us if it really 
looked anything like Venice.” 

“Oh, it was exquisite,” broke forth Bertha. “ I 
kept whispering: 

“ ‘ There is a glorious city in the sea, 

The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets 
Ebbing and flowing, and the salt sea-weed 
Clings to the marble of her palaces. . . ’ ” 

“ Oh, girls, did you have any supper? ” cried Dolly. 
“ Did you get into that heavenly restaurant where 
the salad was trimmed with lobster claws and the 
little chops were all in tissue-paper upper skirts ! I 
was ravenous ! Mr. Edgecomb would pay my bill, 
and I only hope he has a big letter of credit.” 

“ Miss Dwight’s friend was very polite,” said 
Bertha. “ His name is Leroy Heath, and he means 
to call on you, Mrs. Thorne, because his route often 
touches ours, he said.” 


HOW DR. TOM CONDUCTED. 


6; 


“ Any friend of Miss Dwight would naturally be 
unobjectionable,” said Kate, amiably, adding: “ I was 
terribly worried about you.” 

“ And I assured her you could take care of your¬ 
selves,” said Tom, nonchalantly. 

“ So they can,” said Kate, “ but it still remains to 
be seen if you can take care of them. That was 
what you undertook to do.” 

“ I have not had a smoke to-day,” remarked the 
Doctor, letting himself out of the door and the dis¬ 
cussion. 

The girls’ tongues were then unloosed and they 
talked over every detail of their adventures. 

“ It is great fun belonging to a conducted party,” 
exclaimed Dolly. “ You will let us go again, won’t 
you ? Don’t scold Doctor Bruce. Mrs. Florida had 
her business eye on him—and we could look out for 
ourselves, as he says.” 

“I seldom have headaches,” smiled Mrs. Thorne, 
“ this will be the last of the season. Good-night, 
girls.” 


CHAPTER FOURTH. 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 

D URING the rest of their stay in London, Tom 
simply took care of himself. Kate said she 
was able to attend to her flock if she was 
not bothered with a man, or, as she explained, a man 
whose whims led him to propose going off into fas¬ 
cinating byways. Duty pointed her straight to the 
Abbey, museums, galleries, and all those edifices 
mentioned in capitals on itineraries and fully deco¬ 
rated with festoons of adjectives like “ grand,” 
“glorious,” and “historic.” True, Mrs. Thorne 
weakened sometimes when she happened to hear 
Mrs. Pollock whisper to Mrs. Florida about “ the 
small of my back,” but Florida was of sterner stuff. 
She always replied : 

“ Mother , do you want to go home and have people 
ask you about things you did not see? ” 

Miss Coxe overheard Miss Bilton talking to the 
Doctor one day, and broke into the conversation. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Thorne is a perfect leader ; but I be¬ 
lieve yon have lots more fun. What, for instance, 
have you done to-day? ” 


68 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


69 


“ Let me see! I have done so much it is hard to 
tell. I started for the British Museum and got there. 
They were all home ; every old Rameses, every Kar- 
nak ram’s head, every old battered Egyptian was 
ready for me, and I got into their quarters first. 
There was the prettiest little mummy of a princess 
in sackcloth knickerbockers strapped with brown 
tape. She had worn her hair banged for almost 
three thousand years and she had her family coat-of- 
arms worked on her knees, elbows, and cheek-bones 
in a sort of Kensington stitch. There was real stvle 
about her. Close by was the sarcophagus of a 
‘ Bard ’; no doubt he was in love with her and 
wrote her poems all in hieroglyphics.” 

“ Why you have ever so much sentiment, have n’t 
you, Doctor?” cried Dolly ; “ I did not think it of 
you.” 

“ I am steeped in sentiment; all doctors are,” said 
Tom. “ Well, then a guide asked if I wanted to 
see the Portland Wahz, and I did, not knowing if it 
were fish, flesh, fowl, man, or beast. I paid a six¬ 
pence and saw a pretty little vase cracked by a luna¬ 
tic who was maddened probably to find the Wahz 
such a trifle of a thing.” 

“It is an antique treasure of great—” began 
Miss Bilton, but Dolly said, “ What else did you see, 
Doctor ? ” 

“ I went for a walk and saw the Seven Dials, then 
a lot of curiosity shops, a sixpenny museum, several 


70 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


churchyards; met a row of butchers’ boys with trays 
of pork-pies on their heads, took a ’bus and got off 
by Smithfield where they roasted the martyrs in 
Bloody Mary’s day.” 

“ Oh, how perfectly lovely ! ” cried Dolly. 

“ There was an old church there (oldest Norman 
one in London),—antique odor of sanctity perfectly 
overpowering,—and better still St. Bartholomew’s 
Hospital, very old and rich. My professional card 
let me in and I had a fine two hours, saw a splendid 
operation for—well, you would not understand if I 
told you. It was entirely successful, only the poor 
fellow died just after it ; they often do. Then I 
walked to Blackfriars Bridge, and came home on the 
Thames.” 

Dolly was in raptures. “ Oh, Doctor Bruce ! How 
perfectly heavenly ! ” 

Dolly always emphasized each syllable of perfect¬ 
ly and put a hyphen between. 

“ It must be awfully instructive to go about with 
you. Do take me just once! Mrs. Thorne is an¬ 
gelic and ever so intellectual, but your way of learn¬ 
ing appeals to me. I ’m sure we got on all right 
going to Venice with you. I don’t wish to be frivo¬ 
lous in the least, don’t you know, only sometimes— 
just a little—I like to frivole.” 

Tom looked intelligent, but he gravely asked how 
she had filled her day. 

“We spent the most of it in the Abbey,” viva- 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


7 1 


ciously cried Bertha, turning up her eyes and the 
palms of her fat hands. “It surpasses everything! 
I held my breath ! ”—(“ Not long,” whispered Dolly,) 
—“All I ever read came rushing over me”— 
(Dolly : Sort of circulating-library sensation that 
must be)—“ I could spend months there,” con¬ 
tinued Bertha, in sincere rapture. 

DOLLY : Well, I could not. When the organ 
plays I fairly hear the dead men’s bones in the walls 
rattle. I liked best of all the royal waxworks up 
garret; the point lace on the cuffs of the King 
Charles dummy made my mouth water. 

BERTHA: Then we had an hour or two for the 
National Gallery. 

DOLLY: And Polly, Junior, thanks her stars in 
such places. 

Tom : What do you mean ? 

DOLLY : The famous pictures have stars to them 
in the guide-book. Doesn’t she go for them and 
stand there to study the quotations from Vassari, 
and Ruskin, and Kugler! She buzzes to herself 
like a little boy swinging his heels over his spelling 
lesson, and I hear her mumbling about feeling, 
atmosphere, tender conception, and chiaro—what 
you may call it. 

And suddenly Dolly was contorted with laughter. 

Bertha : What does ail you ? I am sure / 
read every note and hunt up stars. It is the way to 
learn. 


72 


LOVE AJVD SHAWL-STRAPS. 


Tom : So it is, Miss Bilton. 

Dolly : But Bertha enjoys it. Polly does it as 
the Irishman said he played the fiddle, “ Nayther by 
ear or by note, but by main strangth.” She broke 
Miss Dwight all up to-day, though Harriet went to 
pieces properly in a corner after Polly left. She 
asked her in what room was the wonderful fiskey, 
and she was hunting up a Psyche. 

When Miss Bilton received a joke it took severe 
hold of her. She now became so rubicund and agi¬ 
tated that the Doctor felt called upon to say: 

“ Mrs. Thorne reproves me sternly whenever I in¬ 
dulge in any personalities, Miss Dolly.” 

“ Then I advise you not to indulge in them when 
she is present. I never do. Doctor, won’t you 
take a few of us on top a ’bus? It must be next to 
the bliss of being the Goddess of Liberty on top of 
a circus chariot, and how I do want to be out in a 
London fog! ” 

“ Fogs are out of season, and 'bus tops are only 
for cherubs like me, and perches for the ‘lower mid¬ 
dle class.’ ” 

“ Nonsense! I mean to go on one. Miss Dwight 
says she shall go ‘ as an experience.’ -She is always 
correct, but not stupid. I like her. She thinks I 
am superficial, and I am, so that is all right. I pre¬ 
sume we ’ll be intimate friends soon.” 

Bertha suddenly inquired if “Ben Jonson really 
was buried upright in the North Aisle.” 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


73 


Tom did not know. Dolly asked if Ben or Sam 
wrote a dictionary, and which of them had an “ h ” 
in him; then thanklessly checked Bertha in a full 
flow of biographical instruction. They were await¬ 
ing dinner in the drawing-room, were getting impa¬ 
tient, when Mrs. Florida put her head in at the door 
and tartly remarked : “ We ’ve been ten minutes at 
the table.” When she noted the aggravatingly 
pretty dinner gown Dolly wore she added : “ Mrs. 
Thorne does not expect to tell us that our meals 
are ready.” 

Dolly tossed her head, like a young colt in a 
clover field, remarking: “Dr. Bruce was so enter¬ 
taining we forgot everything.” Tom grinned. He 
reflected that Dolly, like Bertha, never was ill- 
natured, but unlike Miss Bilton she seemed to 
know what might ruffle another’s tranquillity. Each 
of the eight were in those days learning the peculi¬ 
arities of the rest. 

That night, after each had gone to her room, Miss 
Dwight heard a soft tap at her door, and prudently 
asked at the keyhole : “ Who is it ? ” 

“ Me, Bertha—I—at home mamma always kisses 
me good-night. Don’t you feel lonesome?” 

“ Not especially so.” 

“ Please call me Bertha—and—don’t think I ’m 
queer—but—do you love me a little? Could you 
open the door? ” 

“ The key turns very hard.” 


74 


LOVE AND SEA WL-STRAPS. 


“ Oh, then, don't mind—but—tell me what I 
asked.” 

“ I see things—to—to respect in you, Miss Bilton. 
I never love anybody on such short notice.” 

“ Well, I hope you will. I just can’t live unless 
people love me. Mrs. Thorne is so lovely, but 
rather cold.” 

“ You will get cold yourself standing there ; good¬ 
night.” 

“ Good-by, dear ; I ’m drawn to you.” 

(At Dolly’s door, raps.) 

“ It is me.” 

(Dolly) “ Good gracious, Bertha Bilton !—Is the 
hotel on fire ? ” 

“ Oh, no—no, certainly not—I just came to kiss 
you good-night.” 

“ O—ooh—Well, you couldn’t—not to edification, 
for I—I—am greasing my whole face with cold 
cream,” and Dolly seized a little box before opening 
to her guest—“ I’m afraid my nose may peel after 
burning so on the ocean.” 

“ It does not look so—May I sit down?” 

•‘If you can find a chair. Dump all those parcels 
on the floor. They are the sweetest scarfs from 
Liberty’s, awfully cheap, considering what they cost 
at home.” 

“ Will you see them soon again ? ” 

Dolly stared at her before asking : “ Who is going 
to steal them ? ” 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


75 


“ Oh, you don’t understand. I was thinking of 
those young men, Mr. Edgecomb and Mr. Heath.” 

“ Oh, yes, as likely as not.” 

“ Would n’t it be delightful! Was Mr. Edge- 
comb’s conversation suggestive ? ” 

“ He suggested supper, which was good of him, 
for I was simply ravenous, and it would have been 
awkward for me to do the suggesting.” 

“ Mr. Heath is very interesting and cynical, or 
Harriet made him so ; she has such decided opinions. 
I have, too, but I am sympathetic. I touch people 
on that line more perhaps. When do you think we 
will see them ? ” 

“ I have no idea.” 

“ I like gentlemen’s society, don’t you, Miss 
Coxe ?” 

“ Oh, I worry along with it. Shall I order another 
candle, this one is going out ? Aren’t you awfully 
sleepy ? ” 

“ No, but I must go—That man on the steamer 
that paid me some attention seemed really like a 
church member. Mrs. Thorne did not like him one 
bit—he talked very nicely about his grandmother; 
she was a seven-day Baptist when she was alive—I 
would be ashamed to tell you what he said about 
my eyes.” 

Bertha waited a second, then made a move for¬ 
ward. Dolly applied a large dab of cold cream to 
her cheek, and swept it about her rosy lips. 


76 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


Bertha retreated as the candle gave its last flicker, 
saying: “ Good-night. Sweet dreams. Perhaps 

they may call to-morrow.” 

She had to pass the Pollocks’ door, but she did not 
halt there. By Mrs. Thorne’s she hesitated ; all was 
quiet within. Heaving a gentle sigh Miss Bilton went 
to bed unkissed. She was not, however, without 
consolation. No one of the eight save Mrs. Thorne 
herself would get so much out of Europe and what 
it had of the aforesaid “ grand, historic, and inspir¬ 
ing.” She really knew and loved what she said “ she 
adored.” The gods dispense their gifts justly. 

Mr. Edgecomb called to see Mrs. Thorne and Miss 
Coxe, only to learn that they had gone to Windsor. 
Mr. Heath also left his card one day, and found no 
one “ at home.” 

It was a golden afternoon in early June when our 
pilgrims started for Canterbury. All the way they 
had raptures over green fields, trim hedges, stone 
. bridges, and wild flowers; over red brick farm-houses, 
ivy-covered ruins, and neat railway stations. At 
Rochester Dolly suddenly produced a kodak, and 
snapped a British soldier strutting on the platform. 
He struck a pigeon-breasted pose, and winked at 
her. She said that would not affect the picture, and 

regretted that she could not take the all-over-redness 

\ 

of his coat, his face, his hair, and the saucer-cap over 
one ear held by a strap across his chin. 

Then they steamed away again through fields gay 


THE TOUR BEGINS . 77 

with red poppies, stretching on until they seemed to 
meet the tender blue sky. 

“ I shall give you as little of the modern as pos¬ 
sible in Canterbury,” said Kate. “ It would be out 
of keeping with Chaucer, Thomas a Becket, and 
the Black Prince. You shall have every comfort, 
but the hotel is centuries old. I chose it for an¬ 
tiquity’s sake.” 

“ I hope Aunt Iquity is clean and can cook,” mut¬ 
tered Tom. 

When they issued from the train, Kate led them 
to a “ custard-colored coach,” or rather an omnibus, 
lined throughout with buff wall-paper and having 
blue hollyhocks and pink buttercups running over its 
sides and roof in most fantastic patterns. The eight 
just filled it, while all their bags went on top,—those 
spic-and-span new Gladstone bags that every porter, 
lounger, or stray traveller gaped at admiringly. They 
were so much “ smarter ” than the boxes, tin bread- 
cases, and bloated bundles of short-trip passengers. 

The girls laughed at the vehicle, but Mrs. Thorne 
said : “We ought not to come in on wheels anyway, 
but as chroniclers say the pilgrims used to arrive : 
‘ Some on foot, some on horseback with music, with 
song and merry bells, so that with their pipings and 
janglings, and the barking of dogs after them, they 
made more noise than if the king came with all his 
clarions and music.’ ” 

Miss Bilton asked questions until they drew up 


;8 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


and presented the end door of the ’bus to the portal 
of a low, dark, small-windowed inn, out of which 
bustled a modern waiter in a spotless shirt-front and 
white tie. 

Every girl began to gaze at the window-ledges full 
of geraniums in bloom, at the queer twists and turns 
in the low broad stairs going up, down, and to my 
lady’s chamber—at the doors with latches, the hall 
tables covered with brightly scoured candlesticks 
holding tall white candles. 

“How old is the Blue Columbine Inn?" cried 
Bertha, seizing the elbow of a brisk maid who led 
- their way roomward. 

“ Well, miss, the records do speak of a Blue 
Columbine here in thirteen hundred. ’T is likely it 
is this one. Will these rooms please you, madam ? ’’ 

She flitted along, opening door after door into 
chambers so deliciously cool and quaint that soon 
each inmate was eager to prove her own the best. 

“ I’ve got a big four-poster with a white dimity 
canopy and a ruffled valance," cried Dolly, “ and I 'll 
have to go to bed up a young step-ladder that lives 
at the foot of the concern." 

“ Oh, you ought to come here to see the ornaments 
on my tall mantelpiece, my picture of Queen Anne 
in her coronation robes, and the old gilded bellows 
I have got," called Florida, from across the hall. 

“ That is tame to a secret closet, its door covered 
with wall-paper and its shelves full of jam-pots and 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


79 


currant jelly ! That is what I have in my room!” 
retorted Miss Dwight ; “ and I look out on a garden 
with a sun-dial in it and the jolliest old chimney¬ 
pots.” 

“ Wash your faces,” calmly called out Mrs. 
Thorne, “ and we will have several hours in the 
cathedral before dinner.” 

This process did not take long, then Kate and her 
charge went forth. 

“In the course of a few hours,” said she, “one 
learns that everything in Canterbury (except the 
grocer and haberdasher) connects itself with St. 
Augustine, a Becket, Henry the Eighth, the Black 
Prince, or the Canterbury Talcs. As for the cathe¬ 
dral here—we would spend the summer in and 
about it if I had my way. Come here down old 
Chancery Lane ! 

They followed her, looking curiously right and 
left, on through the great gate into the cathedral 
yard. The huge trees were making designs of light 
and shade on the soft turf, the rooks were wheeling 
about away up where the towers were outlined 
against the summer sky, and by the doorway the 
weather-worn kings, queens, and saints awaited their 
new-world wonder as patiently as they had done 
without it in centuries when tourists were unknown. 
Then they (the eight, not the saints) spilled their in¬ 
significant little selves into the cool, white immensity 
of the nave, and for a quarter hour had to let them- 


8o 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


selves receive a sort of baptism of silence and 
solemnity. The cathedral does that for every one 
not a fool. 

In due course of time a statistical guide took 
them in tow, and swarming about him they went 
feeling of archbishops’ effigies, gazing at shrines, 
peeping into chapels, cloisters, chapter-houses, and 
taking in a hotch-potch of facts about all sorts of 
architecture since the tower of Babel. They were 
squeezed into the little newly opened chapels of St. 
John and St. Gabriel, looking at the old frescos, 
when Dolly, who eschewed instruction too copiously 
administered, stole off to find an effigy on a tomb 
that really interested her. 

“ I declare,” she murmured, “ so box-pleated 
skirts were all the style for ladies in 1305, and Jersey 
waists with big buttons down the front ! ” 

“ There is nothing new under the sun, you know,” 
said somebody over her shoulder, “ and what repose 
of manner Lady de Oshun has! ” 

Dolly glanced up, nodding pleasantly as she 
asked : “ Do you suppose, Mr. Edgecomb, that it is 
the friction of time that has rubbed off the end of 
her nose ? ” 

“Yes—unless some Puritan snubbed her; they 
reformed the noses of the dead aristocracy if ever it 
came handy. May I ask when you reached Canter¬ 
bury, Miss Coxe ? ” 

“ Well, since we met that guide in there I can not 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


8 1 


be sure in what century it was—but we have not 
eaten dinner here yet. I am as hungry as I was 
that day I got lost.” 

“ I came yesterday and am at the Blue Colum¬ 
bine.” 

“ Why, so are we ! ” said Dolly. “ Is it not curious 
there? Here comes Mrs. Thorne: let me present 
you.” 

Kate was pleased with Mr. Edgecomb. In view 
of her cares as a chaperon, it was considerate of him 
to be a clergyman elect and so a suitable companion 
for her lambs. They had a brief chat over the me¬ 
diaeval lady in the jersey. Miss Bilton smiled to her 
utmost capacity, devoured Mr. Edgecomb’s utter¬ 
ances, struggling meanwhile to keep the guide’s 
elbows within graspable proximity. In the next 
pause she said : “ Don’t forget to show us that old 
window you spoke of.” 

“ No, miss, for ’t is the holdest in Hengland, I’m 
told.” 

“That interests me,” said Mr. Edgecomb. “ lam 
studying up church architecture and art of the mid¬ 
dle ages.” 

“ Are you going to be high church ? ” asked Bertha, 

with one eye on the guide. “ We are Congregation- 

alists at home; but if I were in the ministry it would 

just inspire me to pace up to the altar with a white 

scarf and a scarlet hood on my back, a verger 

(don’t you call him?) ahead with a silver stick,and a 
6 


82 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


long train of white-robed cherubs chanting slow 
music behind.” 

“ Cherubs ! ” giggled Dolly. “ There was half a 
dozen of those choir boys in the cloister at West¬ 
minster scuffling into those holy night-gowns they 
wear, and squabbling for all they were worth. But 
I am a Methodist, you know, and we like simplicity.” 

“Yes, you are a Methodist of the Methodists,” 
said the Doctor, strolling over to Dolly as they 
moved off. 

She said : “ Miss Dwight will approve of Mr. 
Edgecomb, he is brainy I suppose. I hope this 
Mr. Heath will be a little levitous. Oh, I am simply 
famished ! What more must we see, Mrs. Thorne ? ” 

“ Nothing before dinner. At midnight (it being 
Friday) the ghost of Nell Cook walks in a corridor 
over here. You can read about her in the Ingoldsby 
Legends .” 

“What an improper ghost—unless she brings her 
chaperon.” 

“ She is all alone, and if you see her,” put in the 
guide, solemnly, “ you will not live out the twelve- 
month.” 

“ Then in sightseeing let us draw the line at 
ghosts,” said Mrs. Bushby, shuddering. “ I don’t 
like crypts, and ruins, and creepy places.” 

“ I must go home,” said Dolly, “ and bring my 
diary up to date. I am away back in London. Bertha 
lets me copy hers for facts. I don’t meddle with 


THE TOUR BEGINS . 


83 


her emotions. I mean to have some of my own if I 
ever catch up. I must have some in case it is ever 
published like Marie Bashkirtseff’s you know.” 

Tom did not know, but he led the procession home 
to dinner, Mr. Edgecomb talking with Mrs. Thorne 
all the way. 

“ I am as hungry as a bear,” said Mrs. Florida, 
when they neared the inn. 

After dinner none of them cared to go out. All 
had letters to write, gloves to mend, or meant to go 
early to bed. 

Miss Coxe, going to her room, dawdled before her 
mirror trying new effects with her “ fringe ” ; in other 
words, brushing up, down, aside, the curly rings 
above her fair forehead. Then she punched the bed 
to see if it was soft, scoffed at the little pillows, fi¬ 
nally decided to get out her Russian leather portfolio, 
after which she gazed at a half dozen fat envelopes, 
addressed in various styles of masculine chirography. 

“ I can’t bother to answer half of them. Let 
them think they were never delivered on the steamer. 
How will I manage with the rest—let me see. I 
can keep my journal up to time ; the facts are no 
more Bertha’s property than mine. Some of her 
sentiments made a little Coxey might do, and then 
a neat copy of one letter could go the rounds where 
the receivers are not intimate. In the rest of the 
journal I can put everything purely personal that I 
want to remember.” 


8 4 


LOVE AND SHA IVL-S TEA PS. 


Reaching for her silver-backed hair-brush, Dolly 
knocked loudly on the side wall. 

“ Bertha! Bertha Bilton, I want your journal right 
away.” 

“ Why, dear! I have pages on pages to write 
to-night.” 

“ Botheration ! you ought to do them separate 
like manuscript, then you could hand them over 
handy. How can I tell what I have seen if you 
don’t? Well now who was it—St. Patrick or St. 
Peter that came to Canterbury from Jerusalem—was 
it? to ah—to build the cathedral ?” 

“ Oh ! Dolly,” cried a pained voice, and forthwith 
Bertha began the pretty tale of the young “ Angles ” 
in the Roman slave market. 

“ Never mind, never mind ! ” protested Dolly. 

“ And when St. Augustine saw them—though by 
the way, Dolly, he was not the other St. Augustine 
who-” 

Wicked Dolly tiptoed across the room, stole away 
from the flood tide of instruction, and appeared to 
M iss Dwight, saying: “ Let us go for a walk, just 
you and I.” 

“Will Mrs. Thorne like it ? ” 

“ It is broad daylight, and England is not wicked 
like the continent. Poor Mrs. Thorne must be 
tired, she has seen it all.” 

Miss Dwight, putting aside her writing, donned 
her hat and gloves. 



THE TOUR BEGINS. 85 

“ I like England,” said Harriet, when they were 
in the street. “ It makes me think of Boston.” 

“Yes, it is very respectable, and seems saying, ‘I 
always have been this way, I always expect to be. 
I don’t recognize any other way.’ I wonder,” 
added Dolly, “ if this is a garrison town ; I see lots 
of soldiers.” 

They passed just then a fine-looking officer and a 
group of privates. Dorothy glanced that way. The 
officer whistled under his breath, one of the privates, 
red-nosed, pock-marked, and plebeian, turned and 
went the way the girls were going. Neither of them 
saw him. They walked until finding themselves in 
Castle Street, Harriet proposed they should keep on 
until they saw the castle itself. 

“ What an old box it is,” she exclaimed a little 
later, “ but being so ancient it is awe-inspiring I 
suppose.” 

“ Humph—been there seven or eight hundred 
years you say,” muttered Dolly, gazing at it coldly, 
her only comment being: “ How ridiculous! ” 

Miss Dwight might have challenged her adjective, 
but instead she whispered, “ Dolly, don’t turn your 
head !—I believe one of those impudent soldiers 
has followed us. Let us go back where there are 
more people.” 

In a minute there came a wheedling voice from 
the rear. “ Pretty, ai’nt it, miss, but not so pretty as 
you ! Would n’t you like a guide about ’ere ? ” 


86 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


They paid no attention, walking briskly ahead, 
Dolly whispering, “ I am not afraid ! There are lots 
of people in sight.” 

“ I hear him following, I would like to stop and 
kill him," breathed the young woman from Smith’s 
College. 

Dolly giggled, the footsteps gained on them. 
They suddenly turned and Mr. Edgecomb was for 
a second quite discomposed by the ferocity of their 
expression—and then the flash-light of pleasure suc¬ 
ceeding, even more by their greetings : “We 
thought you were a wretch of a soldier ! ” 

“ Drunk and with the small-pox,” added Dolly. 

“Thank you,” he laughed,” “you really imply a 
preference for my society; may I ask why you 
await such an apparition ? ” 

“ Why, there was one here ! There he goes down 
that lane.” 

“ Have you been to the Dane John ?” 

“ Not yet.” 

It is a beautiful promenade with flowers and ter¬ 
races. It is near here, we might go that way home, 
if you will allow-” 

“Yes, there is precisely where we were going,” 
replied a gentle voice close behind the group. 

Mr. Edgecomb turned quickly. “ I beg your par¬ 
don, Mrs. Thorne, I did not see you before.” 

“No? I was studying the windows, and wonder¬ 
ing about the castle.” 



THE TOUR BEGINS. 


8 ; 


They discussed the castle then with more intel¬ 
ligence and interest. That done all started for 
the Dane John. Dolly meekly explained in an 
undertone: “We thought we would be safe alone 
and need not disturb you.” 

“ That was kind, but I meant to come here and 
am glad you wanted to see everything possible.” 

“ She may be deep,” mused Dolly, “ but she is 
not pussy-cat-y—still she won’t be caught napping 
very often, Dorothy Coxe.” 

“ I wonder if you are as loth to leave England as 
I am. What do you enjoy the most here, Mrs. 
Thorne ? ” asked Mr. Edgecomb. 

“Well, in London I like the streets and the 
Abbey; winter twilights are most weird there. In 
whatever mood one may be, the Abbey is responsive. 
Even as a monster museum it is rich in the grotesque.” 

“ Do you want to know what I like the best 
there ? ” asked Dolly, flippantly. 

“You said the old waxworks.” 

“ No, Harriet, I forgot the tomb of that old Earl 
of Exeter. In his lifetime he put up a big monu¬ 
ment—a flat top like a railway platform—and right 
in the middle he caused to be sculpt his lordly self. 
On his right side was put Mrs. Exeter in brown- 
stone furbelows. He was a ‘ widdy-man ’ at the 
time, but he knew he should not stay so, accord¬ 
ingly he left a good wide berth for No. 2 on his left 
side. He married (I have no doubt she was half a 


88 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


century newer), and later he died. At his funeral 
she took note of that big vacancy at the left, and 
wife No. i in the place of honor on his right. No. 
2 could not stand that. When the time came she 
got herself nicely buried somewhere else, and that 
family monument will be one-sided till the crack of 
doom. No Yankee’s wife would have done that.” 

“Would she have been meeker?” asked Mr. 
Edgecomb. 

“She would have been brighter, and had the 
cover pried up, put herself on the right, and re¬ 
moved No. i to the left.” 

“ I see, on the principle of he laughs best who 
laughs last,” he commented. 

“ What do you like best in London, Mr. Edge- 
comb?” asked Miss Dwight. 

“ The things Mrs. Thorne spoke of: being jostled 
along the Strand, turning under an arch, and finding 
the greenness of Temple Garden, the Crusader’s 
Church, Goldsmith’s grave. You can look up to 
his chambers, where he hung blue curtains during a 
brief run of literary luck. Blackstone was under his 
rooms at work on his Commentaries. The noise 
above drove him almost wild, for Goldsmith gave 
parties, and danced Irish jigs with his wig on hind 
side before.” 

“ I forgot Regent Street shops! ” cried Dolly, 
“ the East Indian ones. An embroidered crape I 
saw there was heavenly ! ’’ 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


89 


“ May I ask where your travels take you ? ” in¬ 
quired Mr. Edgecomb. 

Dolly being weak in geography dropped behind, 
and let Miss Dwight walk with the gentleman. 

“ We are going by way of Dover to Ostend, thence 
to Ghent, stopping at Bruges a day or two. Mrs. 
Thorne has a friend who is a nun in that wonderful 
Grand Beguinage that you probably know about. 
She says there are seven hundred women in that 
little town.” 

“ I have read of it,” said Edgecomb. “ It was 
started more than—well, half a thousand years ago. 
The same sisters live there now, their souls are spot¬ 
less, their bodies became spiritualized by prayer and 
penance, so they do not need to die. In time of 
wars no nation ever harmed them. I fancy they 
are as much like modern women as rose leaves shut 
into prayer books years ago are like fresh blossoms.” 

“ On the contrary,” remarked Mrs. Thorne from 
the rear, “ these good sisters’ average weight is from 
one hundred and fifty up. Their spotless little 
kitchens send out about dinner-time delicious odors 
of potage. They are Christians, but not winged 
ones.” 

“ I have always longed to go there since the place 
was described to me,” sighed Dorothy, with an espe¬ 
cially seraphic look in her eyes. It prompted Edge¬ 
comb to persist. 

“ Still, Mrs. Thorne, we have to picture them in a 


9 ° 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


less realistic fashion. I venture to say that Miss 
Coxe is drawn to this mediaeval abode of sanctity 
by visions of ,nuns not unlike Fra Angelico’s angels, 
or what Taine calls ‘ fine and gentle figures on 
golden backgrounds, that breathe a mute repose like 
immaculate roses in Paradise.’ ” 

“ I—I think,” said Dolly, sweetly, “ Harriet may 
be after those, but my object is chiefly to buy 
enough fine Duchesse lace to trim an evening dress. 
They sell it awfully cheap in comparison to home 
prices.” 

“What did Miss Coxe come abroad to see?” 
asked Mr. Edgecomb, finding himself with Miss 
Dwight in advance of the others. 

“You think,” said Miss Dwight, with startling 
accuracy, “ that she may have come abroad (as some 
people old and young do come) without ability to 
appreciate what she will see. This is not true. She 
will see, feel, learn, and appreciate, but nobody will 
be the wiser for it at the time.” 

“ Is she sincere ? ” 

Miss Dwight did not propose to analyze Miss 
Coxe’s character, even if Mr. Edgecomb wished to 
amuse himself with the study, but to see justice 
done was one of Harriet’s passions. 

“ She is sincere with herself.” 

“ That is a cheap virtue.” 

“ A cheaper one is the constant effort to do and to 
think what other people expect of us in the given 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


91 


circumstances. Dorothy never tries ; if she tries 
anything it is to keep her ‘ good spells,’ as she calls 
them, to herself.” 

“ That is selfish.” 

“ It is her way of being sincere.” 

“ I do not understand.” 

“ Well, for instance, she told me that when she first 
saw Niagara Falls from the Canadian shore she 
wanted to get away alone and say her prayers, but 
as she could not, being with a clergyman at the time, 
she giggled and told him if ‘ there could only be a 
syndicate to turn the whole thing into an ice-cream 
soda fountain how nice it would be ! ’ That man thinks 
Dolly put herself into that speech, when it was just 
her way of escaping from him.” 

“ Why could she not be true to herself and say 
what she thou ght ? ” 

This question was not unlike others which Miss 
Dwight herself was in the habit of asking at times, 
but addressed to herself she chose to think it prig¬ 
gish. She sharply retorted : “ Do you always give 
your ‘Sunday best’ thoughts to Tom, Dick, and 
Harry because they happen to be at your elbow 
asking what you are thinking about ? ” 

“ No, but perhaps it would be better for Tom, 
Dick, Harry, and me if I did.” 

“ It might and it might not,” she coolly remarked, 
and a little later seemed to have forgotten all about 
him. 


92 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


When Miss Coxe, getting confused, asked why 
they called this pleasant little park the “ Demi-john,” 
he talked with her a while. It piqued him just a 
trifle that Miss Dwight was not listening. At last 
he again addressed her directly. 

“ You know my friend Heath, Miss Dwight ? ” 

“ He was a classmate of a cousin of mine. I had 
met him several times in Boston before I saw him in 
London. I thought you were travelling together.” 

“We are when we happen to want the same thing. 
I shall go from Canterbury to Paris. You may meet 
him in Holland. He speaks of you as an old and 
valued friend. Acquaintance counts for more when 
Americans are this side the ocean. He wants to 
know Miss Coxe better.” 

“ He does not know her at all.” 

“ Oh—he—why he saw her so often on the boat. 
He pointed out a whale to her once (it was nothing 
but a porpoise, and small at that), and she asked 
him something about the coast of Ireland. She may 
not remember him, but he retains very clear impres¬ 
sions of her.” 

Miss Dwight gave him a searching glance in the 
clear evening light. He blushed a trifle, quite as if 
he had been making too much of some claims of his 
own instead of Heath’s. 

Harriet saw the faint color, and thought, “ He 
has the face of a man who deals more with ideas 
than with things ; that is why I should fancy him a 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


93 


priest—only sometimes all he wants to speak he 
says with his features first, like an actor; or he does 
involuntarily what an actor learns to do. I never 
thought. before about men being able to blush, so 
few ever seem to—but they should, I think,” and 
Miss Dwight studied her companion’s countenance. 
He knew she was doing it, but this time his features 
played him no trick. He merely realized he was 
warmly comfortable, though the evening air was 
growing sharp. 

This last fact was soon evident to Mrs. Thorne, 
who advised retreat hotelward. Edgecomb, who at 
times had a whimsical conscience about trifles, and 
later repented obeying that conscience, fell behind 
to walk the rest of the way with Mrs. Thorne, chiefly 
because he was moved to hasten on alone with this 
girl whose grey eyes looked into a man and beyond, 
earnest with thoughts he did not know. He coveted 
them. 


EDGECOMB TO HEATH. 

Paris, June ioth. 

Dear Heath : 

I have not written to you since we parted on the 
Thames Embankment, where you made your confessio 
amantis rather more like Oliver to Orlando than in the 
style of Gower, except that you could only speak for 
yourself. Possibly we were looking at the very scene of 
Richard the Second’s request to the poet after inveigling 
him into the royal barge : to book some new thing.” 


94 


LOVE AND SHAWL-S TEA PS. 


The confession of love is always a new thing whether 
booked or not. To confess love for a woman to any 
other person than herself, even to a prospective parson, 
is of doubtful wisdom—it is a secret for two to keep, of 
whom the knight should be one and the lady the other, 
until he wears her favor in his helm. Miss Dorothy, I 
should judge, will be as hard to win as the music of a 
brook or the forms of a summer cloud. But when won, 
if you are under tutelage to the fairies who know the 
magic for it, true as her own blue eyes. 

In France I feel like a described traveller—sort of ob¬ 
jective to myself. This must be the change of language, 
my mind pathetically “oversetting” itself into French 
idioms. However, this is rapidly wearing off, and in a 
short time I trust to become correctly Parisian by the 
grace of an imperial, a little more rotundity, and a Prince 
Albert buttoned high. 

Of the men I have met in Paris, Alphonse Daudet 
pleases me best and gives me most ideas. He has the 
spirit of French literature in him, like his books. His 
wit has the brilliancy of a rain-drop rather than of a 
diamond, and is transient—born of the hour and no 
longer wit when cold, but while the sparkle remains it is 
richer than the wit which takes the fixed forms of humor 
as with us in America. His conversation is in detached 
flights, now a subject is made musical like a tree by a 
flock of birds, then like the tree suddenly barren and 
silent. Daudet is a handsome man, under the medium 
height—the smaller type of Frenchman,—eyes large and 
melancholy, black hair parted in the middle and hanging 
to his shoulders in the old Henry V. style of his youth, 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


95 


when he became secretary to the Due de Morny. He 
lives in a large sombre house, a house with a character 
totally at variance with his own. Were the house a book 
we would say it had been thumbed and cast aside. Were 
the house a coat, w r e would say it was threadbare. He 
has described it in one of his stories —Un Reveillon dans 
le Marais. I can never think of a Frenchman’s house as 
partaking of or expressing his nature. In England and 
America, houses are quickly assimilated by those who 
live in them. The French, perhaps, have better taste, 
but it is not so individual. Two families could change 
homes and w r ays and one would be very like the other. 
In England and America every detail gets modified by 
“ I like.” French houses resemble the French conven¬ 
tional marriage—in which any one of several partis 
would suit the bride as well. What French poet could 
have written The Hanging of the Crane ? French 
married felicity is founded on mutual forbearance. As 
those who are bound together till death doth them part 
come to know each other less, this becomes more easy 
and domestic life more smooth. But what right has one 
to “ nationalize ” like that ? Why should this or the 
other selfish bourgeoise or more selfish noble be France ? 
Madame Adam, at whose salon I met Daudet, says that 
the American girl is like an onion, giving a peel to each 
acquaintance until there is nothing left for her husband. 
I might possibly think that true of one or two young 
ladies over-given to sentiment, but could not allow 
Madame Adam to generalize so far as to include—well, 
Miss Coxe, for instance, or Miss Dwight. I therefore 
deprecated the onion, but admitted that the American 


9<5 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


girl may have a heart like a palimpsest on which love 
may have traced pure emotions and beautiful thoughts 
before a greater love erased them. It sometimes happens 
that the superscription is erased in turn and the original 
revived and found to be superior—but the heart of the 
American girl an onioti ? Perish the thought ! 

In Daudet’s study, a room with maroon walls, simple 
furniture and no bric-a-brac except some Japanese 
bronzes, there is a picture I wish you could see. It is 
one of the last ones painted by Cabanel. You know the 
power of this painter lies in the wonderful skill and truth 
with which single feelings are represented in faces that 
otherwise might be portraits. Dante says : 

“ Quando per diletianze ovver per doglie 
Che alcuna virtu nostra comprenda, 

L’anima bene ad essa si raccoglie.” 


In each face Cabanel represents the soul “ collected.” 
This picture is L'Amitie — LAmour. A man and a 
woman are looking at each other across a library table, 
on which are open books, and books form the back¬ 
ground. In their faces is the knowledge that love has 
risen from friendship. In the man’s is the ardent long¬ 
ing of hope, in the woman’s inexpressible tenderness 
tempered with regret. His hand is opening a book ; 
hers is closing one. It is an old, old story, as old as 
Plato. Dante has told it well in the fifth canto of the 
Inferno ; but in these faces there is sinless joy. Love is 
not love till friendship crowns it : why should not love 
crown friendship ? 


THE TOUR BEGINS . 


9 7 


For some reason this picture affects me more than any¬ 
thing in the Louvre, where I spend most of my mornings. 
But to discuss picture galleries makes my tongue feel 
like a palette knife, and besides, travellers should not 
venture to be as profoundly descriptive to other travel¬ 
lers as to those who credulously remain at home. Next 
week I go to Geneva. Hotel Beau Rivage will be the 
address. 


Yours, 


Edgecomb. 


DOROTHY COXE’s JOURNAL. 

June 15 th. 

This journal of mine would be kept up in better shape 
if Bdly (Miss Bilton) were not so pig-headed. I never 
have a little leisure when I could write it all out but she 
wants her own journal, and I must wait. All the solid 
facts and lofty sentiments, therefore, have to be jotted 
down in pencil at such times as I can borrow her book. 
My own original paragraphs are perpetrated in ink. This 
item may be of use to my future biographers. We left 
Canterbury one morning after breakfast. Mr. Edgecomb 
came to the station with us in the custard-colored coach 
and went as far as Dover, where he took a boat for 
Calais, e?i route to Paris. I wish we were going there at 
once, the summer styles are perfect dreams of beauty, 
and there is a something or other wonderful at the opera- 
house. Lots of the steamer people we met are there. 
Holland must be very Dutchy. What do we want of it 

—we who have been to Hoboken ! We are in Antwerp 

7 


9 § 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


now. I have bought a ravishing white Spanish lace scarf 
at Diegerick’s. A man ought always to have brown eyes 
if he wants to make love and escape suits for breach of 
promise. Brown eyes say his soul is full of adoration, 
regularly melting in a mush of emotion, when probably 
he is wondering where he can get the cheapest caramels 
with which to pay his philopena. [In pencil :] How 
strange to stand in this Place de Meir and realize that 
only three hundred years ago this street was packed with 
Antwerp citizens athirst for one another’s blood ! Calvin¬ 
ists and Catholics. Outside the gate a battle raged, and 
at the gate stood William of Orange. By his coolness he 
stayed the slaughter and united brave men in defence of 
their own homes. [Ink:] After writing I went out and 
realized this. Billy also conducted me into the cathe¬ 
dral and sat me down. A verger in a black Mother Hub¬ 
bard made me pay a copper for using a kitchen chair, and 
thumped me until I got into the right angle with the high 
altar. Billy said the music was angelic, and that one 
lovely afternoon centuries ago the radiant sunshine 
streamed through these chapels from windows far more 
gorgeous than now exist. Suddenly a frantic mob thun¬ 
dered at the great doors. The terrified priests fled down 
the aisles with no thought of the priceless treasures left 
behind the altars. A moment more and the mob 
swarmed in, hurling down statues, dashing, breaking, 
ruining every work of art, every treasure of the ages. I 
let Billy go through one volume of Motley. It pleased 
her and did not bother me. We had cucumbers baked 
and stuffed with chopped meat at the table d’hote last 
night. I am anxious to encounter peculiar dishes. I had 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


99 


a German teacher once—or I did have until he fell in 
love about the fifth lesson and became so incoherent papa 
dismissed him. But how was it that stuffed pickle 
suggested him ? Oh, I know. One day he said he longed 
for his home, fair Bingen, or some other town, on the 
Rhine, and a home supper. I asked what he would prob¬ 
ably have for the evening meal, and he answered ecstati¬ 
cally : “ Perhaps a beautiful baked fish stuffed with 
gingerbread and raisins, and nice sour beer sauce.” 
There is much of interest that I might say of Ghent and 
Bruges, but Billy wrote it all home in a letter instead of 
noting in her journal. I have told her that I would look 
over her letters hereafter. She has no objections. Mr. 
Edgecomb may write a letter to me. It was like this : 
Harriet Dwight said he was “ not the sort of man to 
carry on a commonplace flirtation with a chance acquaint¬ 
ance, no matter how polite he might be when thrown with 
her.” I owe Harriet one for that. There is a little inno¬ 
cent French book adapted to youths, called Thertse. I 
asked Mr. Edgecomb to see if a copy could be found in 
Paris. He promised to search the book-stores. Of course 
he will have to let me know with what success. All I 
want is just to flourish an envelope from J. Everett Edge¬ 
comb under Miss Harriet’s eyes. Humph ! Chance 
acquaintance, indeed ! . . . 


Haarlem, 22d. 

We have arrived here in the middle of a Kirmess , or 
country festival. It is fun ! The town is full of royster- 
ing peasants, pretty girls in red petticoats, parents just 
awful in circumference, boys in wooden shoes and baggy 


100 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


trousers. They sing, embrace one another, and stop any¬ 
where in the streets to dance to the tunes of the hand- 
organs. The big cathedral is in the centre of the market¬ 
place, which is crowded with booths, where they sell 
cheap jewelry and ribbons, smoked eels, hot waffles, and 
pancakes. We make our way over wares spread on the 
ground for sale—old furniture, old china, even old iron 
and copper. Mrs. Florida Pollock and I were strolling 
around together when we came on a frame building 
covered with gaudy pictures that I saw in a minute were 
of the Mikado. I heard the orchestra ! I heard a Dutch 
Koko (how funny that sounds) singing the Flowers that 
Bloom in the Spring , and I implored Florida Pollock to 
go in with me. She had no change, and feared it was im¬ 
proper. I had plenty of money, so she consented. The 
music was pretty good, the costumes most comical, but 
the benches bent under the weight of the occupants, 
while the planks in the floor shook and squeaked fright¬ 
fully. None of the men took off their hats. All of them 
smoked when not drinking beer. I knew they were not 
wicked, those fat fathers of dozens of assorted sizes of 
children—lots of these last squeezed under their elbows, 
between their feet, or behind their backs, but I wished I 
had not come. Florida got obstreperous and accused an 
old chap like Santa Claus of promenading on her toes. I 
thought he said something about “sourkrout,” but I may 
have been mistaken. I said : “ Oh, I wish the Doctor was 
here ; I want to go home, and these monsters never will 
understand and make way for us.” 

One of the very biggest, reddest, Dutchyest of those old 
fellows turned to me with a bow and said, in perfect 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


IOI 


English : “ I think you will be able to get out. I will 
move the monster just ahead of me.” 

I laughed. I would have to laugh if I had just in¬ 
sulted the ghost of my grandfather. Santa Claus laughed 
too, and made way for Florida. We exit-ed, but in the 
very act I looked toward an upper row of seats, and there 
was a person I saw on the steamer. I believe it was that 
Heath, Mr. Edgecomb’s friend. He was amused. I saw 
it in his eyes, and along with that amusement I saw a de¬ 
sign to get up and follow us. Well, should he have the 
satisfaction of meeting us after that impertinent amuse¬ 
ment manifest to my naked eye ? No, indeed. I whisked 
Florida in and out behind eel booths and around Punch 
and Judy shows until I had her safe at home. I never 
told Harriet Dwight that a “chance acquaintance” of 
hers was in town. 


Delft. 

When we were on the train steaming toward this 
place I just mentioned that Mr. Heath was in Haarlem. 
Harriet did not seem to hear. On the way some one 
told Doctor Bruce of a comfortable and very interesting 
hotel in the “ Groote-Maarkt.” The Doctor was so sure 
he knew the name that he would not tell anybody what 
it was, and forgot it when we got to Delft. There were no 
cabs or ’buses at the station, and we sallied forth in 
search of the market. It was a delicious morning in this 
queer story-book-looking place. We trailed over bridges, 
along sleepy green canals bordered with lime trees. 
Placid women sat knitting in the sunshine that filtered 
between the leaves. I longed to push one of the fat, 


102 


LOVE AMD SHAWL.-STEALS. 


tow-headed children playing about into the canal, just to 
see if any comfortable mother would get agitated, but 
Mrs. Thorne would not allow it. We came out into a big 
open square, and went twice around it, but whether the 
people talked high Dutch, low Dutch, or Dutch of every 
degree between, nobody understood the Doctor. Sud¬ 
denly he saw a sign that recalled the hotel name. It was 
the place. We entered a wide hall. Opposite was a little 
reading-room, and there, writing a letter, I saw Mr. 
Heath, but he saw none of us. A landlady appeared, 
gazed at us in surprise, turning to delight. She said some¬ 
thing. Mrs. Thorne tried German, French, and English. 
Florida interjected remarks in a dialect she begins to 
employ with what she thinks great success : “ Rooms— 
dinner—good— cheap —us wants—quick ! ” 

She always shouts louder and makes it more ungram¬ 
matical the less it is understood. The person talked to 
usually escapes and does something, often the right thing, 
and Mrs. Florida is proud. This time the woman pointed 
us into a neat salon with green furniture, house-plants in 
tubs, and a shelf on the wall fdled with real Delft plates. 
She vanished, but two seconds later bounced back with 
a queer little beady-eyed man, whom really she seemed 
holding by the nape of his neck. The sight of us relieved 
his mind of some fear. Perhaps she caught him so sud¬ 
denly he thought she had gone crazy. He did not seem 
either English or American, but he said he might be of 
use to us, for he spoke all the continental languages. 
He then interpreted for Mrs Thorne with delightful 
exactness. He engaged our rooms, our dinner, sup¬ 
per, breakfast, and other matters of detail. He said 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


103 


he was a commercial traveller. When he bowed himself 
out of the door he said that madame the landlady 
had a daughter, Louisa, who would soon be home, and 
who also talked “ all the languages.” Next we all went 
clattering after the landlady up the steepest flight of 
stairs that I ever climbed, into the funniest little rooms— 
beds hung with pink-and-white curtains, wash-bowls as 
big as small bath-tubs, and in the centre of each a ewer 
the size of a cream-pitcher. We were out all day, but at 
dinner-time we assembled in the dining-room and sent to 
ask if that gifted Louisa had returned. She appeared in 
pink muslin and gold beads. Her fat little nose turned 
up exactly like a pug’s, and how she smiled ! Perhaps 
she talked Russian, but she spoke no German ; all her 
French was “ Oui , Oui English she had none—the 
little fraud. I wanted hot chocolate, so I walked down 
to the front door and rang a bell I had seen in the hall. 
It brought the whole family, except the commercial 
traveller, whom I especially wished to use. By signs I 
entreated the landlady to produce him. She groaned, 
then waving her arms in the air she pointed to a stork 
which, with its legs crossed, was passing high over our 
heads. She evidently meant to imply that he had flown 
away in like manner. However, we had a good dinner. 
There was a beautiful inlaid pearl box put in the middle of 
the table, and all the spoons we wanted were in it—lovely 
antique-looking spoons, very curious in design. I tried 
to buy one later of Louisa as a souvenir, but she could 
not stop giggling and oui-oui-ing long enough to receive 
one rational idea. 


104 


LOVE AND SHA IVL-STRAPS. 


HEATH TO EDGECOMB. 

Delft, June 24, 1889. 

Dear Edgecomb : 

Did it ever occur to you that I ought to be a painter? 
I never yearned to put on canvas attenuated Madonnas, 
or studies of anatomy, mis-called saints. I never stood 
before a Raphael and announced, “ I too am a painter,” 
etc., etc. But since coming into Holland I want to per¬ 
petuate my impressions. Their moral influence would 
be excellent. The serene phizes of these Dutch brothers 
would restrain my temper. I could never be melancholy 
if I could always look into a clean-scrubbed kitchen with 
blue tiles, gold and silver dish-pans, where a flaxen-haired 
maid forever dwelt in an atmosphere of peace, piety, and 
onions. Perhaps a homoeopathic doctor would say that 
in my case a kodak was “indicated.” Everybody has 
one ; every third young woman you see has just broken 
hers or wants advice. Miss Coxe—By the way, thinking 
of angels and pictures, I saw a painting (early, awfully 
early) that would interest a theolog. like you. It shows 
that even in the Middle Ages the men were a bad lot in 
contrast to the women ; that less of them went to church 
than do now. This thing of beauty, done in thirteen 
hundred and something, represented Heaven on top of a 
green hill, with high walls around. The blessed were out 
leaning on their elbows. Their heads were well devel¬ 
oped, they had dark-blue wings waving in rapture, but 
there was nary a vertebra or a leg among them,—they lived 
wholly in the upper story. Trooping up the hill toward 
Paradise were no end of poor mortals. After every single 


THE TOUR BEGINS. 


105 


man were half a dozen capering imps with red-hot pokers 
and pitchforks, so that scarcely one got to the top. A 
long, orderly procession of ladies, as decorous as the in¬ 
mates of a female seminary, meandered up the hill, 
streaming into the celestial gates without let or hin¬ 
drance. It was all right, bless their hearts ! If you your¬ 
self were her father confessor—by the way, do you go in 
for that line of business ? some high-church fellows do, 
I believe,—if you were her confessor, you would find that 
her very worst sins were only too luxuriant virtues. She 
is here. I do not make much headway in her acquaint¬ 
ance. She is very elusive. Is it the shyness of one too 
inexperienced to know her power, or do you think she 
can have taken an aversion to me ? Of course, I am not 
so conceited as to think this last fancy an impossibility. 
I saw her in Haarlem, but she did not know it. The 
banker told me they were going to Delft, so was I. 
There is no choice of hotels, and we are under the same 
roof. 

That was a lofty sentiment you penned about the folly 
of number one confessing to number two his love for 
number three before he (number one) had paid for the 
solitaire diamond on number three’s engagement finger, 
or, in mediaeval lingo, a knight should not prance about 
the ring praising the lady whose favor he did not yet wear. 
True ; but to drop figures of speech, who has been con¬ 
fessing love, or professing it either ? Once I told my 
small brother I would thrash him for tale-bearing. He 
squirmingly pleaded: “ If I don’t know nothing I can’t tell 
anything , so if I do tell something, why it won’t be nothing , 
will it ? ” What are fancies, emotions, rhapsodies about 


io6 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


i pretty girls ? Do they not vanish into air like cigar 
smoke? I never confided anything to you. You take 
me seriously. I seldom take myself so. It does not 
agree with me. By the by, you were the knight who res¬ 
cued the beauty from that fire-belching dragon of a 
locomotive that was running away with her. You your¬ 
self may have her love token hidden under your cassock. 
I bet you are jealous. All the same, I shall prance 
around her, exercising all my fascinations, and with the 
gods rests the issue. I like Miss Dwight. I admire her. 
Have you not heard of some garden over here, well 
trimmed, flower beds all correct, everything as it should 
be ? It tires you a bit, so you drop down for a rest. 
It is not your garden, nobody asked you to make your¬ 
self at home. You realize the fact when a shower-bath 
comes cooling down on you, or suddenly the underpin¬ 
ning fails, and you are flat and sprawling. Finding Miss 
Dwight so sensible and well informed, yet so eager for 
knowledge, I have ventured once or twice to—well, as it 
were, take her tenderly by the hand to lead her into 
loftier realms of thought, going slowly, of course, in 
deference to her feminine limitations. We never get 
there. The shower-bath act or the heels-up scene takes 
place. It occurs so suddenly I always think it happens ; 
then it comes to me that Miss Dwight is not teachable. 
I repeat that I am very fond of her, and I believe she 
feels affectionate toward me. Only to-day I told her I 
recognized in her that proclivity, and I begged her not 
to struggle against it. It was then I remembered those 
gardens I spoke of just now. Where are you—still in 
Paris ? Have you been to any lectures in the Sorbonne ? 


THE TOUR BE GUVS. 


10 7 


I should imagine they would be in your line. What are 
you doing anyway ? Your letters are not half personal 
enough. I never fancied you lacking in egoism until 
you began losing yourself out between the lines of your 
letters. There go Miss Coxe and Miss Dwight down the 
Groote-Maarkt. She has her kodak. I shall get one to¬ 
day if they grow in Dutch soil. Could there be an easier 
way to bring to pass what the poet meaneth by “Two 
souls with but a single thought ” ? Two kodakers snap¬ 
ping at the same castle, donkey—what you will. I too 
have business now in the Groote-Maarkt. Bless you, old 
chap, bless you, and in the meantime you may write to 
last address. Yours, 

Heath. 

P. S.—I really was going to write a letter when I began, 
but there is such a go-easy-ness about everything I for¬ 
got what I started to do. Wait until next time. 


CHAPTER FIFTH. 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 

I T was three o’clock in the afternoon. Mrs. Thorne 
had just said to her brother: “ I think we have 
seen enough of Delft; We will go on to-mor¬ 
row. That reminds me, Tom, there is not a time¬ 
table in the hotel that I can rely on, they are all too 
old. Won’t you stroll over to the station and learn 
exactly when the trains go ? ” 

The Doctor nodded, looked for his cap, and left 
his sister planning how to spend time in the next 
town. Dorothy Coxe was in the hall. 

“ Oh, Doctor Bruce, you are going somewhere! 
Fet me go too. I forgot to take my kodak this 
morning, so I have not half enough street scenes.” 

“ Come right along, Sissy.” 

“ If you don’t stop that ‘ Sissy,’ Doctor, I will just 
watch you in your ‘ hours of ease ’ and snap you 
with your mouth open from ear to ear and your legs 
straight out like candle moulds. I will put that 
photograph on the market, and the woman will be 
‘ uncertain and hard to please ’ who will not laugh 
when she sees it.” 

108 


By RAIL AND RIVER. 


109 


“ Spiteful, are n’t you ? ” commented the Doctor, ey¬ 
ing the trim little lady with her buff leather box-strap 
over her shoulder. “ And that flavor of a quotation 
in your words suggests that somebody has been 
quoting poetry to you. Is it that chap who tells me 
that Mr. Edgecomb is his-” 

“ Hush, here he is,” whispered Dolly. 

They were in the street by that time. Mr. Heath 
stopped to ask the Doctor the value of a Dutch coin 
that puzzled him. Tom mentioned that he was 
going to the station to find out about train times. 
Mr. Heath could tell him everything he wanted to 
know ; then the last comer turned to Miss Coxe with 
a question about her photographs. They chatted 
for a minute or two, and Tom found himself soon 
after conducting Dolly (accompanied by Heath) 
to an old church that she had “ overlooked,” she 
said. Tom had not known her hitherto very zeal¬ 
ous in hunting them, but Heath explained that the 
stained glass was fine, and moreover in this Oude 
Kerk was buried old Admiral Tromp, who hoisted 
the broom to his mast-head when he swept the 
Channel clean of the English. Dorothy turned on him 
such a bewilderingly pretty face as he was glibly recit¬ 
ing what he had that day noted in his Baedeker, that 
the deluded gentleman instantly decided the shortest 
route to Dolly’s good graces might be along the line 
of history. He begged to be allowed to carry her 
kodak, and he proceeded to discourse in a style that 



I I o 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


few local guides could have surpassed. Tom saun¬ 
tered leisurely along, stopping to inspect whatever 
interested him. 

“ Now, this is a little more than I can stand,” 
thought Dolly, with a wicked light in her blue eyes. 
“Billy is all the instructor of ancient and modern 
history I have any use for,” and thereupon she made 
a slighting allusion to old warriors and their tombs. 

“After all,” said Heath, “ I presume what really 
stirs in you the most intense emotion is the realiza¬ 
tion that from this sleepy old port went forth those 
men and women in whom we glory—from Delfts- 
haven you know sailed the Pilgrims.” 

“ The Pilgrims! ” echoed Dolly. “Did they, in¬ 
deed ? Why, I always think of them trudging along 
on foot.” 

“You—ah—probably you fancy them after they 
landed, enduring hardship,” said Heath, a trifle con¬ 
fused. 

“ Oh, the women had a pretty pleasant pilgrimage. 
I used to read about it Sundays, and was always 
so sorry for the little boys, who ate Beelzebub’s 
apples.” 

It was Heath now who was at sea—and the Pil¬ 
grims, where were they in Dolly’s ideas ? She saw 
and richly enjoyed the expression of his face before 
she sweetly inquired : “ Did Mr. Bunyan live in Delft ? 
He did not write the lives of those Canterbury Pil¬ 
grims too, did he ? I always want to learn all I can 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


1 I I 

when I fall in with a person who loves to instruct 
other people.” 

Perhaps Heath, who had a smart little temper, 
might have cast her kodak on the paving stones if 
the Doctor had not asked : “ What old church is 
this?” 

It was the Oude Kcrk. They went in, but Mr. 
Heath offered no more suggestions, proffered no 
more facts. He gave Miss Coxe her kodak, hoped 
she would have a pleasant afternoon, then lingering 
for a glance here and there, vanished. Dolly trotted 
around after the Doctor as docile and charming as 
ever, and more than usually happy. 

“You can’t enjoy this sort of thing,” suddenly 
exclaimed the Doctor. “ Let us go home. I have 
letters to write.” 

Dorothy followed him out at once, but at the door 
said: “You go on, Doctor, I will come slowly. 
There are some queer booths and corner houses I 
want to snap.” 

“You won’t get lost ?—Remember Venice.” 

“ Lost in this dull, little place ! ” was Dolly’s pert 
reply. She was glad to be alone, to think of Heath’s 
chagrin, to wonder if Harriet would have cared about 
the Pilgrims (no doubt, being from Boston, she 
doated on them). Then she forgot everything but 
her occupation, while the Doctor, turning the corner, 
disappeared. She wanted to look in the funny shops, 
at the cheeses like golden cannon balls, and the 


112 1.0 VE A ND SHA WL-STRA PS . 

ginger-bread beasts and ships. Suddenly she re¬ 
solved to take a long walk. 

“ I can’t possibly get lost, and the streets are very 
fascinating.” On she went by the edge of the green 
canals, past some fine mansions with open doors; 
looking in she saw carved oak stairs, elaborate ceil¬ 
ings, brass sconces, lanterns and brackets. She 
peeped into one parlor, where a fine old lady was 
dispensing afternoon tea. In the middle of her 
mahogany table was a copper pail with a brazier 
filled with coals, and on this a kettle like gold. 
Pretty blue and white teacups stood about. It all 
made Dorothy wish she might go in for a chat with 
a rosy girl who sat there embroidering. By and by 
she came to wider, very silent streets, where old wo¬ 
men sat on stools picking out grass and weeds 
from between the stones. She took pictures of 
them. Next came a turn, a bridge, and she strolled 
along a canal, looking across into little summer¬ 
houses built out on the water from the bottoms of 
gardens. Here was more drinking of beer, coffee, 
tea, with more koocken. The cheerful laughter of 
the little groups made Dolly all at once lonesome. 
She put the strap of her kodak over her shoulder 
and started for Hotel Schaap in the Groote-Maarkt. 
It was a long way farther off than she supposed ; 
in fact longer than otherwise it would have been 
had she not gone persistingly in the wrong direc¬ 
tion. She began to be extremely tired. She asked 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


113 

the way of old women who beamed on her and 
shook their heads like uncommonly dull cows. 
About five o’clock she came where she could see 
real cows—and the country. There was nothing 
dreadful about the flat green land, the long lines of 
low trees and the clean little homesteads ; but Doro¬ 
thy wanted to cry. She was far more depressed 
than when alone on the underground road. A very 
obese boy, in breeches like meal sacks, laughed to 
excess when she tried to ask him where was the 
“ Schaapy She turned again and rushed back to 
the denser populated town. 

It was a wofully weary, solemn Dolly that sud¬ 
denly found herself, after a long tramp, by the house 
where she had seem the old lady and the copper 
kettle. She was tempted to go in ; for possibly the 
lady spoke a little English. J ust as she raised her eyes 
to survey the house Mr. Heath came around a cor¬ 
ner close by the spot where she stood. She rushed 
at him with rapture : “ Oh ! I am so glad to see you ! 
I lost myself! I am tired to death and that hungry ! 
Oh, what good angel sent you here !—Do you know 
the way home ? ” 

He had intended when he saw her again to ignore 
her utterly. What he did was to exclaim : “ Why 
you poor girl, you look completely exhausted ; give 
me that kodak—I will get a carriage.” 

That was easier said than done, and after he had 

looked toward every point in the compass for a cab, 
8 


I 14 Z 0 VF A ND SHA IVL-S TRA PS. 

' he caught a glimpse of Dolly’s face. She was laugh¬ 
ing, but there were big tears trickling down her 
cheeks. She was an awful baby sometimes, but men 
never despised her for it. Heath might have pro¬ 
posed to carry her bodily home, so excited was he, 
but just at the moment a donkey-cart half filled with 
cheeses came rolling along, accompanied by a youth 
with amazing red hair and an eye to business, 
whether in the regular line or not. Heath pounced 
on the donkey and then addressed himself to the 
conductor of the affair They came to a speedy 
understanding; Heath knowing some German and 
the boy knowing more. There was a clean board 
seat in the cart, the donkey was a sleek, little beast, 
Miss Dorothy, laughing now like a schoolgirl on a 
frolic, was Induced to occupy the seat, while the boy 
and Heath walked by her side. The boy conversed 
with the donkey and Mr. Heath chatted amicably 
with Dolly. No one saw them when they stopped a 
little way from the hotel. Heath allowed her to 
bestow on the youth about a tenth part of what she 
proposed to give, then they went meekly hotelward. 
Just before entering the door Dorothy extended her 
hand saying : “ Will you forget—this—this—that.— 
Of course I always knew ‘ how the breaking waves 
dashed high on a stern and rockbound coast, when 
a band of pilgrims’ and all that—but really I could 
not help it, I often have such attacks. Some of the 
earlier Coxes must have been wicked—Good-night.” 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 115 

Heath did not have time to add that later Coxes 
were angelic, and afterwards reflected it was just as 
well. The Doctor asked Dorothy at dinner if she 
had enjoyed the afternoon. Mrs. Thorne looked up 
surprised, but when Dolly replied that she always 
enjoyed herself if the Doctor took care of her, the 
chaperon was satisfied and looked approval at her 
brother. 

Thus far all things had gone very smoothly with 
Mrs. Thorne. The Pollocks had learned that even 
without “ eternal vigilance ” on their part pleasant 
rooms were given them, the window seats in coaches, 
and—well that no one had anything better than they 
received, therefore the Pollocks were amiable. Mrs. 
Bushby was always good-natured unless hungry, and 
Kate saw to it that such a state of things did not 
occur. Tom was doing as well as could be expected. 
He never paid for anything without being cheated, 
except on occasions when some particularly honest 
and courteous foreigner brought in a most reason¬ 
able bill. At such times he was sure to roar himself 
into a rage, bring around a crowd of spectators, 
and mortify his sister to the last degree, all because 
a hundred francs or thalers sounded “ so confound¬ 
edly big ” for the sum demanded. She paid most 
of the bills. 

This last evening in Delft she was busy with ac¬ 
counts when Miss Bilton made a call. Bertha wore 
her best ruby-colored silk gown, and her fine hair, 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


116 

elaborately arranged, was harpooned with two silver 
spears. She wished to know if it would be “ quite 
proper ” for her to look over a book that she had 
seen in the conversation room. 

“Is any one of our number down there?” asked 
Mrs. Thorne. 

“ The Pollocks are writing letters in the room.” 

“ Then of course you can,” returned Kate, an¬ 
noyed at being consulted. “ You know I have only 
told you not to stay alone evenings in public draw¬ 
ing-rooms, or when they are occupied by men.” 

“ Mrs. Thorne, don’t you think it wrong to flirt? 
Mamma does.” 

“ Your mother flirts ? ” said Kate, maliciously. 

“ Oh, gracious, no, she disapproves of it.” 

Kate went on calculating how many dollars were 
represented by her collection of Dutch coins. 

“ I wanted to speak about something so—so—you 
would not think I was encouraging anybody or lead¬ 
ing any one on.” 

“ What do you mean ? Speak right out, Miss 
Bilton.” 

“Well—you know in London that night we went 
to Venice and met Mr. Heath, Harriet and I ? He 
was very polite. He did not tell us then he was 
coming to Holland.” 

“ Why should he ? ” 

“ He is not—that is, Harriet says her coming here 
had nothing to do with his being here.” 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


II 7 

“ Certainly not, who would ever dream that it 
had ? ” 

Bertha blushed, simpered, and prepared to take 
leave, saying : “ Then, of course, you won’t accuse 
me of encouraging him to—to follow us. You know 
he never saw Dolly before—or only on the boat. 
Mrs. Thorne, Dolly Coxe is not a flirt either. She 
talks very seriously of the sin of it ; it is a sin.” 

“ But one you need not confess until you are 
guilty.” 

“Yes, of course; only I am so sensitive. Mamma 
is always soothing me. I care so much what those 
I love think of me. If, now, you thought-” 

“ I never think if I can help it—about nonsense. 
Do you know what a stuiver, ten dubbeltzes and 
Gonten Hentzes are ? ” 

To her surprise, Miss Bilton did know. She gave 
her much clear information on Dutch coins, and 
then withdrew, studying the effect of the sleeve 
ruffle on her plump arm. After the door closed, 
Mrs. Thorne mused a moment or two on Mr. Heath, 
then forgot him wholly. She had not once looked 
at him in the light of a possible “ follower” of her 
young people. 

When Miss Bilton reached the conversation room, 
she found there nearly all of her companions. Mrs. 
Pollock and Florida were tete-a-t<?te in a corner, cast¬ 
ing up accounts. It became each day vexatiously 
evident to them that various things were not “ in- 



118 • 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


eluded ” that must be had ; postage-stamps, camphor, 
cough-drops for the old lady, and what she called 
“ suveners ” for Florida to display after their return. 
They amounted—the sum of them—to three francs 
this night, and she grew more ghostly white than 
ever, while Flori irritably insisted they “ could not 
go on like that.” They agreed to purchase the 
“ suveners,” and worry through colds uncamphorated. 
Then Flori became good-natured enough to confide 
a private matter to the old lady. 

“ I suppose, Ma, you think I don’t know any 
French ? ” 

“You don’t, do you, Flori?” 

“ Of course I do, but being out of practice I have 
felt bashful. I studied it four terms at school. Now, 
don’t you pretend to be surprised when I begin. I 
bought a little book to-day that at first will be a 
help. It gives the English, the French, and the cor¬ 
rect pronunciation, so I can’t go amiss ; but I don’t 
want the rest to know that it is not all impromptu. 
It is none of their business. It is like this-” 

Florida’s sharp eyes noted that the others were 
not observant, then, drawing a primer from her 
pocket, she continued. “ If, for instance, I want to 
ask: Give me pens, paper, ink, blotting-paper, en¬ 
velopes, postage stamps. Is the post in ? Are 
there any letters for me ? all I need to do is 
to learn that the French for it is pronounced: 
Donnay-mwa day pluhm , dhu papyea dc launkr , dhu 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


n 9 

uvar , day taurnbr-post . Lah post ate ell ahreevay? 
Yah teel day lettr poor mwa? ” 

“ My land ! Flori—Any one would say you had 
talked it all your life—But, will anybody under¬ 
stand ? ” 

With a gesture of utter contempt for such sim¬ 
plicity, Florida arose and sauntered into the hall. 
At the office-window stood Mr. Heath. It was not 
an opportunity to be lost. She stepped vivaciously 
up to his elbow, and nodding toward the stolid por¬ 
ter, exclaimed : “ I suppose he speaks French, they 
all do.— Mongseer , Lah post ate ell ahreevay? Yah 
teel day letter poor mn-aoh ? ” 

Mr. Heath recoiled, but the porter, after a stare 
of astonishment, echoed, “ post-letter—Oui! Oui! ” 
Rapture was a faint name for Miss Pollock’s tri¬ 
umph when the result of her linguistic effort was 
actually a half dozen letters thrust into her hands; 
henceforth she spoke only French in hotels. 

The letters were not all for her. The porter gave 
them to her as one of the party, so she returned to 
rejoice the inmates of the conversation room. Miss 
Bilton had one from her mamma, Miss Dwight had 
one, and Miss Coxe two ; Florida one. The girls 
were together, and greeted her so warmly, instantly 
seizing their letters, that she was forced to speak of 
her interview with the porter at a later date. No 
one heeded anything outside the contents of their 
envelopes. When a quarter hour had passed, each 


120 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


one, flushed with happiness, could not resist telling 
the rest pleasant items of home news, although the 
facts concerned strangers. After chatting a while, 
Miss Bilton said : “ Miss Coxe had more than her 
share; we had only one letter apiece.” 

“ Oh, one of mine was from Mr. Edgecomb,” re¬ 
turned Dolly, in the most straightforward manner. 

Miss Bilton bridled and blushed, thinking the 
occasion required it of some one. Miss Dw ight 
seemed uninterested, but civilly assented when Dolly 
asked if they would like to hear it. 

June 21 st. 

My Dear Miss Coxe : 

I duly fulfilled your commission, and send you here¬ 
with the Journal de Therese. I do not know if you will 
find it a satisfactory substitute for the journal of Miss 
Bilton, which you confessed to treat as a quarry, or 
whether you will find Mile. Therese a representative 
French maiden. I send you also the Story of Colette. 
I think she is a true type. I have one of those prosaic 
minds that love to hobble on crutches of reality in things 
imaginary, and would fain have a saint thrown at my 
head under Colette’s castle walls, and would as soon go 
to Somerset and Devon to realize Lorna Doone as to 
Holyrood Palace and Fotheringay Castle to realize Mary 
Queen of Scots. In Rome I shall find as much pleasure 
in tracing the scenes of Hawthorne’s Marble Faun as in 
repeopling the Coliseum with gladiators and an audi¬ 
ence thumbs down. Therese, like Bernardin de St. 
Pierre’s Virginia, is now extinct. Colette lives, and also 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


121 


Balzac’s Modeste Mignon. You told me you had read 
none of Balzac’s stories, so I send you three books. 

I was sorry to leave France, and did so slowly, going 
through Burgundy and Champagne on foot, and confin¬ 
ing my acquaintance to the old-fashioned peasants. The 
new-fashioned peasants are all west of Paris, and have 
been quite spoiled by the artists and the nineteenth cen¬ 
tury. In Brittany every third peasant poses among his 
potatoes when the angelus sounds, and in Normandy 
every third peasant has a newspaper in his hand. 

Do you think Mrs. Thorne will bring your party to 
Switzerland, or keep you all summer in Germany ? I 
shall be in Geneva some time, it is a theological shrine, 
you know. Kindly remember me to Mrs. Thorne and 
the Doctor. 

Sincerely yours, 

J. E. Edgecomb. 

Hotel Beau Rivage, Geneva. 

“ Is not that just an ideal letter ! ” murmured Miss 
Bilton, in a reverential tone, when Dolly ended. 
“ It is so elevating to know a man who is not of the 
earth earthy.” 

“Humph!” said Dolly. “He weighs a good 
hundred and sixty, I will warrant, and has an appe¬ 
tite in proportion. I never care much to correspond 
with a man on purely literary matters. You must 
read these books conscientiously for me, Billy, and 
tell me what to say about them.” 

“ I will, I surely will, and just at first, you know— 


122 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


you will—before there creeps in anything personal, 
you zvill read me his answers? ” 

“You goose ! I would like to have you read and 
write the answers to half a dozen such letters I have 
to acknowledge.” 

“ I envy you,” said Mr. Heath, approaching the 
group. Among you, you monopolized everything 
the postman brought to-night.” 

“What will I do?” suddenly asked Dolly, then 
turning to Mr. Heath she explained : “ Mr. Edge- 
comb has dropped me a note to say he will send me 
a book I wanted from Paris. It has not come, and 
we go to-morrow.” 

“You must leave your address with the porter, 
who will forward the book. Has not Mr. Edgecomb 
left Paris? ” asked Heath. 

“Yes—he has left France—but I will read you 
what he says of his walking tour.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Coxe,” returned Heath. He 
had looked rather dull when she first spoke of her 
letter, but seeing her treat it as in a way common 
property, he sank into a deep leather chair, remark¬ 
ing: “ I deluge Edgecomb with my letters for the 
sake of getting his in return, though he never writes 
unless he sees fit, and he never really tells me any¬ 
thing about himself, while I confide to him every 
smile I shed and tear I smile—beg pardon, I have 
been talking various tongues to the porter. He— 
Edgecomb, not the porter—detests confidences, 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


123 


never gives me a word of sympathy, only tantalizes 
me with a letter I would have twice as long.” 

“ Why, I am surprised,” bubbled over Miss Bilton, 
“ I thought Mr. Edgecomb was what the Germans 
call ‘ soul-full.' ” 

Heath looked amused, but politely remarked: 
“ His soul is full enough, I grant you, but he does 
not ladle it out on demand. When I first knew him 
I was fool enough to think he did.” 

“ I wonder if he will be gone from Geneva when 
we get there?” said Miss Bilton. 

“ I think not. We will probably all meet there 
again. He half promised to wait for me,” replied 
Mr. Heath. 

The Pollocks joined the group. Conversation 
turned on the sights of Delft. Miss Bilton knew 
everything of which the rest were ignorant. Miss 
Dwight soon went to her room. Miss Coxe fol¬ 
lowed her, saying, “ I will tell the porter about that 
book now, or I may forget it.” 

In the hall, however, she hastened lightly after 
Harriet, overtaking her on the stairs. 

“ No doubt you thought it was not nice in me to 
tell about or to read aloud Mr. Edgecomb’s letter.” 

“ You have a right to do what you like with your 
own letters.” 

“ All the same, you would not have done it. I 
should not but for one thing: IHorida Pollock 
studied that postmark when she saw it was not an 


124 


LOVE AND SHA WL-STRAPS. 


American stamp. In about twenty-four hours she 
would have ferreted out what she would think I 
wanted to keep secret. I could not let her have that 
satisfaction.” 

“ Then you did not want to read it aloud ? ” asked 
Harriet, quickly. 

Dorothy shot a keen glance at her, an amused ex¬ 
pression crossed her mobile face, and she turned into 
her own room without answering. When she (Doro¬ 
thy) had shut her door she drew from her pocket 
the letter in question, re-reading it carefully. 

“ Only one thing in it suggests that he expects I 
will answer. He asks where we are going and when 
we will get to Geneva. He may care to know that 
for several reasons, or it may be a chance question. 
I have the best reason for an answer in the fact that 
it is ‘ manners,’ as children say, to thank him for the 
books. I won’t tax Billy to write for me after all.” 

Miss Coxe next went about packing her Gladstone 
bag, soliloquizing after awhile: “ That poor, inno¬ 
cent Methodist minister up where grandmother lives ! 
I did promise to write him what my first emotions 
were on seeing Mont Blanc, but Billy can work that 
up beautifully. He will use it in a sermon, then I 
will permanently efface everything sentimental be¬ 
tween us. It is not right, though I never led mat¬ 
ters with him. Some young ministers are emotional 
and—and—precipitate. Billy can fill the whole let¬ 
ter with Mont Blanc; it is big enough certainly, 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 1 25 

and just the thing to chill him with. I will attend 
to Mr. Edgecomb myself.” 

Mr. Heath had not fully understood the route 
which Mrs. Thorne meant to take after leaving- 
Delft. Within a day or two she had resolved to see 
more of Germany than was first proposed. Bright 
and early the next day, therefore, he made his ap¬ 
pearance, to be rewarded by a seat at the same table 
with the eight. 

“ I have had a very bad night,” he remarked to 
Dolly as he buttered his roll. “Your naughty joke 
about the Pilgrims was the theme, and, speaking 
musically, my dinner the motive. I partook freely of 
last night’s chicken and salad, and pepper cake, 
and patisserie. In the silent midnight, a monster like 
Apollyon in Pilgrim's Progress descended on me. I 
was going under in the contest when I thought to 
exorcise him by singing My Country , 7 is of Thee , 
The demon fled at my first note and I was greatly 
elated in my dream by the glorious victory, but by 
daylight I have reflected the fiend might have fled 
at the vocal not the spiritual part of the perform¬ 
ance. May I ask you, Mrs. Thorne, where you are 
to be for the next few weeks ? ” 

Mrs. Thorne told him in detail. When ques¬ 
tioned about his own line of travel he was rather 
vague, replying : “ A week ago I could have told 
you definitely, now, like you, I see good reason to 
modify and rearrange my plans. I shall perhaps go 


126 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


from here to Hanover, Berlin, Dresden, and Vienna, 
before I join Mr. Edgecomb.” 


Miss Bilton imparted to Miss Dwight her opinion 
that Mrs. Thorne was not “ responsive.” She (Miss 
Bilton) had been wont to tell her mamma or some 
friend every thought. When she approached Mrs. 
Thorne with such intentions, Kate took that time to 
instruct her about making out her washing list. Miss 
Dwight, on the contrary, found Mrs. Thorne very 
quick to meet any advances on her own part. Often 
an involuntary glance and a smile would pass be¬ 
tween the two, and few words were necessary to bring 
them thoroughly cn rapport. As time passed nothing 
was more interesting to Kate than to see what each 
made her own. The Pollocks greedily absorbed 
everything, from facts about art to queer dishes 
at the table-d'hote. Florida assured her mother : 
“ When you see in a gallery a fat woman on canvas, 
yellow hair, with skin looking like pink rouge —that 
is a Rubens—so it usually is, too, if a fiend as big as 
a blacksmith is falling through space head down¬ 
wards, or a bloated tipsy old chap is marching along 
in a crowd of pretty little Cupids, as if a comic 
Valentine had gotten mixed up with a sentimental 
one—I know Rubens every time now.” 

Mrs. Florida belonged to a literary club in Hem- 
lockville, her native town, and was amassing ma- 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 12 7 

terial for future papers to be read before audiences 
not as travelled as herself. 

From Delft our friends slowly made their way 
through Cologne, up the Rhine to Coblenz. They 
started one sunny afternoon, and sailing placidly 
along the flat banks stopped at Konigswinter, a little 
hamlet on the water’s edge under the ruins of the 
Drachenfels, where, as Miss Bilton found, once lived 
the heroine of Schiller’s ballad of Knight Toggen- 
burg. The convent where she died is near or it was 
(time and tense made no difference to Bertha), and 
not far away the lover’s castle. Miss Bilton seemed 
to be in a dream while she ate on the balcony of the 
little hotel her supper of strawberries, cream, and 
various queer sorts of German cake-bread or bread- 
cake. That duty over she persuaded Mrs. Bushby to 
climb the Drachenfels with her. A few rods up Mrs. 
Bushby began to puff, remembered a neighbor who 
had apoplexy, unbuttoned her bodice, and sat herself 
on a near rock. She said views were not satisfac¬ 
tory from too high an elevation. Bertha, always 
good-natured, gave up the ascent, but consoled her¬ 
self by lying awake nearly all night listening to 
a young man playing on a zither. He was really a 
tipsy imbecile, but it made her exquisitely happy to 
think of the sorrows of Werther, fancying her min¬ 
strel played because of some, tender blight—some 
wound in his German soul. 

Mrs. Thorne took them all in the afternoon at 


128 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


Coblenz next day to an open-air concert by the 
military band in the Queen’s Garden. They sat 
under the trees, watched the rippling waters of the 
Rhine, or if they preferred studied the mighty beer 
glasses on the tiny tables about which gathered 
happy family groups. 

“ I never before realized what I missed in being 
an old bachelor,” exclaimed Doctor Tom, after 
watching one such scene. A white-faced, sweet old 
grandmother knitting, nodded in time to a waltz. 
The rotund father balanced on each knee twin girls 
with hair like corn silk. A rosy young mother 
beamed over the highly ornamental baby on her 
lap, who lived in a ruffled pillow with blue bows at 
the corners. Mrs. Florida was about to hint in a 
semi-playful manner that some mistakes could be rec¬ 
tified, when the Doctor added : “ Bless me, does the 
baby wear a silver cap ? ” 

A moment later, when the tiny head emerged from 
a bright beer mug, he understood that young Teu¬ 
tons begin to imbibe the national beverage at a ten¬ 
derer age than he supposed possible. 

From Coblenz to Mayence, thence to Nuremberg 
they journeyed, and from that city Kate thought she 
could never entice them onward. They fell in love 
with the statues of the saints, the angels, the imps, 
and the dragons. They were happy just to loiter 
about the fountains in the squares, watching the peas¬ 
ants, the white oxen,the booths of gilded gingerbread, 
the dovecots under the red-tiled roofs. They faith- 


BY RAIL AND RIVER . 


129 


fully saw the sights of the castle, the cathedral, and 
all that sort of thing ; but for once Mrs. Thorne 
saw that they needed no guidance. The spell of 
the old city wrought in them sincere enjoyment of 
all its charms. 

One day Kate found her brother standing by the 
Beautiful Fountain lost in thought. 

“ What is it, Tom ? ” she asked. 

“ Well, I was thinking that five hundred years ago, 
when there were wigwams on Fifth Avenue and red 
men of the forests scalping one another in Com¬ 
monwealth Avenue, Nuremberg aristocracy stopped 
on its way to church to admire this new fountain. 
We are rather new, are we not ?—and what I can not 
make out is, how from a diet of sour-kraut and 
sausage is evolved the sentiment that has made these 
old Nurembergers keep fresh flowers on the grave of 
that minstrel up there in their ‘ God’s Acre,’ as they 
call it-—and it is four hundred years since the fellow 
sang his last song and went under the daisies.—I 
sort—of—like it—Kate.” 

Kate silently withdrew. He so seldom had an 
attack of sentiment, she wished it to strike in as 
deeply as possible. 

• • • • • • • 

DOROTHY COXE’S JOURNAL. 

Nuremberg, July 4. 

I take back all I said about Germany. Nuremberg is 
different from Hoboken. Billy took me into the Church 
of St. Sebald, seated me before the shrine, and recited 


130 


LOVE A ND SHA WL-S TEA PS . 


the whole of a poem of Longfellow to me. I actu¬ 
ally forgot to stop her, because it described the very 
thing we had seen, but I warned her never to risk it again. 
Poetry is not made to be quoted by women to women. 
Nuremberg is delicious. It is like—a queer mechanical 
toy, and a long sunny afternoon at your grandmother’s, 
and music you can’t forget. It makes you believe in 
theosophy, or whatever creed says you lived once be¬ 
fore—I think I had a German lover here five hundred 
years ago. I wore a quaint little cap and a brocade petti¬ 
coat. I was a good deal better girl than I am now. I 
went to confession regularly, and let Gottlieb Johann 
Schmockpfeifer (or whatever his name was) sing under 
my window—It was that lovely oriel window of Melchior 
Pfining over by St. Sebald—I believe it was easier for 
girls to be sweet and good in the fourteenth century. If 
there happened then to be a Gottlieb and a Johann, , that 
each wanted her, and maybe a Schmockpfeifer besides, 
she did not have half the fuss and responsibility a girl 
has nowadays. Gottlieb just went to the family armory, 
selected a ten-foot crowbar with a sharp steel point, 
challenged Johann, and I only had to marry the survivor. 
Schmockpfeifer, who never had any chance, anyway, took 
the veil, or whatever is the masculine of it. Now—Mr. 
Heath need not think I encouraged him to write to me. 
I told him I was in Mrs. Thorne’s care, that if he saw fit 
to write I should probably let her see his letter, or should 
share it with the others, as I did Mr. Edgecomb’s. Mr. 
Heath is frivolous. If I were a man I should admire 
Harriet Dwight. I am not going to lend the books he 
sent (Mr. Edgecomb) to Billy. I did not tell her they 


BY BAIL AND RIVER. 


I 3 I 

had come. Last night we were all together, telling what 
we had been most impressed by during the day. It was 
all very informal. Billy was in ecstasies over the Burg, a 
wonderful well, a lime tree eight hundred years old, and 
some queer stoves with mottoes on them. Florida Pollock 
had revelled in the torture chamber of the castle, but 
when she expressed her horror of the iron woman, who if 
she once fastened on a man never would let him go, I 
opened my lips to make an innocent comment, and Mrs. 
Thorne actually trod on my toe. She had no right to 
assume that I was not going to ask about the inquisition. 
I had my revenge later. I meant to be really instructive, 
telling about the ancient books I saw in the town library 
in the old Dominican monastery, where I went with 
Billy. I told them instead of a kitten I saw walking out in 
a red flannel blanket made like a puppy’s and trimmed 
with white braid and agate buttons. Mrs. Thorne tried 
to draw me out then on St. Lawrence’s Cathedral, but I 
could not seem to recall anything but the way the sexton’s 
family ring the bell. A lot of his boys and girls grip hold 
of the big rope that hangs down inside the church. They 
pull, and out they swing, short skirts, long pig-tails, and 
boys’ boots—all flying like the fringe on a tassel. I do 
not think that my chaperon will step on my toes again. 
Harriet Dwight surprised us. She began to tell what had 
interested her, and evidently forgot every one of us but 
Mrs. Thorne. Billy just stores up facts of history and 
opinions of critics. Harriet—well, I cannot explain how 
she did it, but soon I was not in the old parlor of the 
Golden Eagle. I was living in the days when the city 
was in the height of its glory. Mrs. Thorne and she 


132 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


knew all about the court life, the burghers’ way of living, 
the various guilds, the goldsmiths, the architects, and 
painters. I wish I were not a fool. I will answer Mr. 
Edgecomb’s letter from Nuremberg. I will be sensible 
if it kills me. 

When I went to bed the moonlight fell on the roofs 
visible from my window. On one, all peaks and gables 
and queer sky-light windows, were scores of doves. I 
called Harriet to come across the hall to see them. 
We were in a tiny balcony. When she had seen the 
doves she looked at me meditatively. I said, “Speak 
right out! What do you think of Dorothy Coxe ?” 

“ I was wishing I had lived a few years of her life as I 
imagine it has been.” 

“ So you might have improved those years better ? ” 

“ I was thinking of myself, not of you. My life has 
been grim. I think it would have made me more flexible 
if I had been petted a little, and wasted money occasion¬ 
ally, and had more beauty around me in things.” 

I said I had been called a spoiled child, and I was 
altogether too flexible at times. I needed a stiffer back¬ 
bone, or a New England conscience, which was much the 
same ; then I coaxed her to tell me about herself, and 
she did—a little. She is not rich. An aunt educated 
her and has sent her abroad. She feels as if she was 
slowly thawing after being congealed in the frosty atmos¬ 
phere of her estimable relative’s home. She did not 
say that, but she told me how her Aunt Eliza has always 
tried to rear her—“ check her exuberances,” teach her 
“ self-restraint.” I seem to understand much Harriet left 
unsaid. She had never been ill-used or neglected, but 


BY RAIL AND RIVER . 


133 


after she was six years old if she had to cry she hid 
until she “ regained her composure.” She came to feel 
ashamed if she grew enthusiastic over music, and when 
for the first time in her life she kissed her aunt the day 
she went to boarding school, Aunt Eliza said : “There, 
there ! That will do.” 

She, Harriet, delighted in school. That shows what a 
home she had. She found her soul, she actually declared, 
“ when she began to know books, as if it had been shut in 
there waiting for her.” I think mine would have awaked 
under Aunt Eliza, and might have set hers in commotion. 
Now, Harriet is, I believe, enjoying everything rare and 
beautiful more intensely than all the rest of us put to¬ 
gether, only she is so cool. Now why could not Aunt 
Eliza have had a niece like Billy to tackle ? Billy shorn 
of exuberances would have been—very much reduced in 
bulk. 

It raised me in my own esteem, this confidence of 
Harriet’s. I wish I had any reasonable ground for that 
fancy I can’t get rid of, that—After all, I wrote only 
the most formal and proper little missive to Mr. Edge- 
comb, thanking him for his books. I showed it to 
Harriet to see if it was too stiff. She seemed to approve 
of it or of me. I can be more effusive when I see him if 
I think best. 

Up to a certain date our friends had made no 
acquaintances as they travelled. They usually had a 
railway coach to themselves, and at other times had 
no desire for outside companionship. There came a 


134 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


day when a singular little episode made them ac¬ 
quainted with another American. On getting aboard 
the train for an eight hours’ trip they entered a 
coach built on the Swiss plan. Two apartments 
adjoined. Each held, or could hold, a dozen persons. 
It was an agreeable change, giving one a chance to 
move about and to watch other travellers. Kate 
and the girls settled themselves in one apartment ; 
the other ladies were with the Doctor just in the 
rear. Mrs. Thorne and Dolly sat opposite two 
solemn men in spectacles and a stout bald-headed 
American. Harriet and Bertha were on a line with 
these last and facing two civil but sleepy Germans. 
Miss Bilton sat by one window, the bald fellow 7 - 
countryman by the opposite one. These windows 
were very large and beautifully clean, not a trace of 
dust or steam obscured the landscape without; in¬ 
deed Bertha, who was very near-sighted, supposed 
the window by the American to be wide open. Miss 
Bilton, always happy, was saturated with content¬ 
ment this sunny forenoon. She was in the land of 
Goethe and Schiller, the home of art and song and 
romanticism. She could gaze out and catch glimpses 
of mediaeval castles perched on hills, with hoary 
hamlets at their base. She could put on her glasses 
and read in her beloved Baedeker what cut-throat 
baron built each castle, and when the black plague 
devastated the village. Her active fancy flitted back 
into the Middle Ages. She recalled Walter von der 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


135 


Vogelweide, Hans Sachs, and the pretty tale of 
Philipine Weiser of Augsburg and the emperor’s 
son. Her big, near-sighted eyes were suffused with 
tears of excitement, and her plump cheeks were 
flushed. Still, about twelve o’clock Kate was not 
surprised to see Miss Bilton draw from her hand-bag 
a big tissue-paper parcel. Bertha had a healthy 
nineteenth-century stomach, and never disregarded 
its claims. The rest sometimes preferred to delay 
lunch for an hour rather than to take it on the road. 
Bertha was never of that number. This day the 
stolid passengers who watched her were all unnoticed, 
as musing on feudal days and deeds of chivalry, 
she spread out in her lap cold ham, boiled eggs, fat 
rolls, chicken wings, and currant cakes. Sighing 
with satisfaction and gratified sentiment, she began 
methodically to obliterate the contents of her tissue 
paper. At times she looked past the American who 
was casting up figures in a little book, and she en¬ 
joyed much the view from the window that she still 
supposed was open. Sometimes in moods of abstrac¬ 
tion Miss Bilton was guilty of slight acts of rudeness. 
She was moved to-day to commit one—but not, 0I1, 
far from it, to do what she did ! She ate until she 
wished no more; there remained crusts, much fat 
ham, egg shells, a melange of edibles. She loosely 
wrapt all together in the paper, leaned forward with 
a motion toward the window. There was a start of 
horror on Kate’s part—a rushing object through the 


136 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


air, loud exclamations on every side, and such a 
picture ! All down from the American’s bald head 
rained salt, pepper, chicken bones, and bread crusts— 
a slice of fat ham nestled in his shirt front—the pow¬ 
dered yelk of an egg on his nose. Rage and boundless 
astonishment pervaded him from head to heels. 

“Oh, mercy! mercy!” shrieked Bertha. “I 
thought that window was open ! ” 

Mrs. Thorne (nights long after she awoke for fits 
of laughter at the recollection) arose in distress to 
apply her clean handkerchief to the victim, to ex¬ 
plain, to beg pardon for Bertha. The other pas¬ 
sengers, at first stupefied, began to roar. The irate 
American suddenly joined in the shout. Bertha 
burst into tears. Doctor Tom, hearing the commo¬ 
tion, appeared from the next apartment, and his 
amazement in beholding Kate’s ministrations to the 
bald-headed gentleman was past expression. She 
was at that instant extracting the fat ham from his 
bosom. There was very little formality in the 
coach for the rest of the journey. Tom and Mr. 
Hudson, as the man gave his name, fell into a brisk 
conversation, Bertha, who had no sense of the 
humorous, was uncommonly hysterical. Two of the 
other men soon got out to change coaches. They 
could not look at her and preserve the gravity they 
felt was expected of them in view of her agitation. 

“ Oh, it is nothing, miss, nothing,” urged Mr. 
Hudson. “ It would have gone outdoors all right if 
the window had been open. Yes, sir,” (he turned 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


137 


back to Tom) “I came over in February, German 
Lloyd Line to Genoa. I got through Italy so in 
cool weather.” 

“ Enjoyed your trip ? ” 

“Yes, on the whole; have not had a decent cup 
of coffee—chicory everywhere. Then I was alone, 
and that is dull. You can’t tell how dull, because 
you have your whole family.” 

Tom, trying to repress his indignation, explained 
they were not all kin save through Adam, and the 
stranger in return gave them a few personal items. 

“ I have no family. My wife died a year ago. 
She was an excellent woman. She weighed one 
hundred and thirty pounds, and was eminently cal¬ 
culated to make me happy.” 

Mrs. Thorne wondered at the conjunction of facts 
thus stated, and wanted to ask if profound philosophy 
prompted it—this intimation that women lean like 
“Cassius” “think too much and are dangerous.” 
Tom enjoyed chatting with somebody who could 
talk of news from the United States. They learned 
that Mr. Hudson was a retired merchant, that he 
knew friends of Dr. Bruce, that he was following the 
same route as the eight, that he was a man of kindly 
impulses and small education. 

Englischer Hof, 

Prague, July 8 th. 

Dear Miss Coxe : 

I entreat you not to frown at the thickness of this 
letter. You allowed me to believe you would receive an 


'33 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


epistle if it were in a manner written to your entire party. 
Surely in that case it must be long enough to go around. 
Besides, you are suffering in Edgecomb’s place. I told 
you what voluminous letters I always write him. The 
worm has turned. He wrote me a fortnight since that 
he was about to leave Geneva for an excursion into the 
mountains, and no mail could reach him until his return. 
I read between the lines. From Delft I went to Han¬ 
over, thence to Berlin and Dresden. I was going to be 
cunning enough to strike your route at Nuremberg, but 
a certain cabman in Dresden was cunninger. He 
dropped me at a nearer station, which happened to be 
the one for Prague. At the office the mistake was dis¬ 
covered, and a lot of Germans, as openly curious as 
children, scolded and lamented as if we had all been 
victimized together. One fat old frau clasped her hands 
and implored me to “ Fly ! oh, fly ! ” Nature having 
denied me the necessary apparatus for crossing the city 
in the four minutes that remained, I went instead to 
Prague, racking my brains on the way for facts about the 
place ; my Baedeker being for Northern Germany, was 
of no use. I remembered mention of Prague in the old 
novel of Thaddeus of Warsaw , and my grandmother used 
to play a turbulent tune called the Battle of Prague ; 
then I overheard a fellow say only Hungarian was spoken 
there, but I took heart, for something like the miraculous 
gift of tongues has been bestowed upon me several times 
in tight spots. Toward midnight there was a thunder¬ 
storm. We arrived in the height of it. I alighted and 
sent heavenward a loud shout of Drosky ! In some out¬ 
landish place it means a carriage. I thought it might 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


139 


here. A dripping waterproof codger appeared swinging 
a lantern. He grunted interrogatively, and grunts being 
the same in all languages, I grunted affirmatively ; then 
I followed him through a tunnel of darkness which sud¬ 
denly ended in a court adorned with the oleanders in 
vivid green tubs, and the hotel clerk all loving kindness, 
which by this time are equally well known to you. This 
hotel used to be an old monastery. You will find the 
rooms dingy (for I know Mrs. Thorne will bring you 
here), but the cuisine is excellent; that is it was so after 
I reasoned with the head waiter about the excess of fried 
potatoes and ice water. He said he was once in New 
York, and fried potatoes and ice were what all Americans 
hankered after when abroad. 

My room was upholstered in dark blue. I had only 
one candle. I presume the rule is not to give two when 
it lightens. I was sadly going to bed, having ascertained 
to a certainty that the sheets were very damp, when 
somebody rapped. It was a lank, black-robed priest. 
He solemnly begged pardon ; it was late, but his errand 
was his excuse—would I kindly give a little sum toward 
a hospital for strangers. English and American people 
sometimes died in Prague, etc., etc. I hastened his exit 
by contributing one of those left-over Dutch dining plates 
that was very heavy to carry around, but I did not care 
for Prague that first night. Daylight changed every¬ 
thing. Please say to Miss Bilton that for beauty of loca¬ 
tion, variety of ornamentation, picturesque street scenes, 
as well as intensely interesting historic associations, 
Prague is the most entrancing city I have seen yet. Be¬ 
sides I am here. If you are in Dresden it is on your 


140 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


way to Vienna. If you are in Nuremberg you can go 
this way to Dresden. If Mrs. Thorne will bring you 
here you can tell all the other Americans you meet this 
summer (and ever after) that in coming to Prague they 
missed the thing best worth while on the continent. I 
have noted that the ability to make such a speech fills 
one’s whole being with sweet serenity—and takes it right 
out of the other fellow. After breakfast I got a guide¬ 
book and started. There are fascinating “snap scenes ” 
at every step (I have a kodak, Miss Coxe). Fountains 
are surrounded by dark-eyed, gaily dressed Bohemian 
girls filling their jugs; over them tower colossal 
statues of warriors or ancient kings. White-coifed 
nuns glide under arched doorways. Carts roll along 
heaped with fruit and drawn by white oxen, their 
yokes gilded or trimmed with wild flowers. In the old 
part of the city is a marvellous bridge five hundred years 
old, over the river Moldau. Its entire span is covered 
with stone saints and martyrs, and it is good form in 
Prague to come out here for the purpose of saying your 
prayers. The statue that interested me more than any 
other on the bridge was that of the Rev. John Nepomuk. 
I am looking for his life and works to send our clerical 
friend Edgecomb, but I can’t refrain from telling you 
the main facts in his career. He was the confessor of 
a queen of Bohemia who lived in 13— something. She 
had a husband, Wenzel by name. The queen was a highly 
respectable person and committed only such sins as one 
in her station would occasionally find necessary. These 
she gave over in a strictly official manner to the Rev. 
Nepomuk, who made them null and void. He of course 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


141 

by his vows could never reveal them. King Wenzel was 
as curious as a Yankee postmaster. He fairly ached to 
know what sins in particular his wife had been sinning. 
He asked the confessor, who would not tell. He resolved 
to squeeze the story out of him, and the squeezing was a 
literal process too, done by the latest improved torture 
machines of that year, 1300 and something. Poor Nepo- 
muk, when pinched, pulled, scorched, and racked, never 
-told of the smallest caper cut by her majesty. Wenzel 
gave the wringer one twist too many, finished the con¬ 
fessor, and flung him into the river. No self-respecting 
saint would sink under such circumstances. Nepomuk 
promptly rose and floated. Soon they needed no electric 
lights on the new bridge, for five miraculous stars came 
down to hover over his head. It would have been eco¬ 
nomical to have used old Nepomuk for permanent 
illuminating purposes, but perhaps not really respectful. 
The common council hooked him up. The stars went 
back to heaven, at least they are not now on exhibition 
in the cathedral where I saw the other things—sections 
of the saint and so on. This big cathedral is dedicated 
to a saint I never heard much about. We have a dance 
named after him, but it never has been or will be very 
popular—namely Saint Vitus. The cathedral is the most 
gorgeous I have seen yet. Before mounting Nepomuk 
in silver they took out his knee bone and put it under 
glass. Most soul-thrilling of all they carefully pickled 
his faithful tongue, and keep it in a gold pickle jar, but 
I did not see the casket and the pickled tongue for the 
same sixpence. The knee bone is also extra. 

I can be your guide everywhere if Mrs. Thorne will 


142 


LOVE AND SlIAIVL-STRAPS. 


permit. I was surprised to find here, in Prague, the tomb 
of the great Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe, and still 
more astonished to learn that in life he wore a gold nose. 
This was bad enough purely as extravagance and love 
of display, but the epitaph says his nose was cut off in a 
duel. “ The undevout astronomer is mad.” Without doubt 
Tycho neglected to say his prayers on the Carlsbridge or 
he would not have gotten mad and lost his nose. I make 
these reflections, Miss Coxe, at the risk of being tiresome, 
but don’t you think facts of history should teach us les¬ 
sons of self-restraint ? I saw a great many other things 
that first day and every day since, but you will soon, I 
hope, see them all for yourselves. Tell Mrs. Thorne it 
will save you all from needing to read the History of the 
Reformation to come to Prague, for the guide-books will 
give full particulars about Jerome of Prague, and John 
Huss, and Ziska the blind fighter. History too—why 
you can swallow it down here volumes at a time. The 
thirty years’ war began in Prague. I really think you will 
miss the greatest opportunity of your lives if you neglect 
Prague. Tell the Doctor there is a wonderful medical 
college and a “ universal sick-house,” which I take it is a 
hospital, and asylums without number. Of course none 
of you need anything of the sort, but the jewelry shops 
are ravishing. Prague is the headquarters for garnets. 
They set them in gold for necklaces, brooches, earrings, 
nose-rings, bracelets—then amber—that is fairly thrown 
away. About what date could you come do you think ? 

Here endeth the first general epistle. 

Miss Coxe may consider the rest of no interest to the 
world at large. May I hope that she will write me at 


BY RAIL AND RIVER. 


143 


least a few lines ? There is only one of me, and I shall 
share her letter with nobody, if I am blessed enough to 
get one. I think she must guess why I would have fol¬ 
lowed her from Delft if I had dared. Blue eyes can be 
heavenly kind if they will. If I only knew how hers are 
as she thinks of-Prague. I dare not even trust my¬ 

self to write more. It would be too much. I cannot 
remember that she knows almost nothing of me, for 
since I first saw her I seem to see her all the time, but 
I cannot bear to think she has no care to know me. 
Cautious, elderly people might suggest that I was too 
presumptuous in assuming that we might be friends 
before I told my pedigree. To any such Edgecomb, 
if questioned, could give full satisfaction. You know 
who the Edgecombs have been for generations. Everett 
—well he would not let a fellow he was ashamed of pre¬ 
sume to call him “friend.” He is worth several dozen 
of me to be sure, but I prefer Miss Coxe should not 
think too much about that. After Nuremberg (or where- 
ever she is) what ? The gods grant it may be Prague. 

Very sincerely her friend, 

Leroy Heath. 





CHAPTER SIXTH. 


DAYS IN PRAGUE. 

M R. HEATH’S letter proved irresistible to Mrs. 
Thorne, and somewhat later he had the 
pleasure of acting as their cicerone about 
Prague. Every day they drove through the various 
parts of the city, finding all enchanting. He took 
them first to places of strictly historic interest. He 
devoted himself to Mrs. Thorne with an earnest¬ 
ness that did not now impose on her in the least. 
He poured into the ears of Miss Bilton an amount 
of encyclopedical facts that reduced her to ecstasy. 
She had made ready to ask him to tell her a little 
about Prague, and at the earliest opportunity 
opened her lips with that intent. Before she could 
speak, Mr. Heath remarked, looking her directly in 
the eye. “ Prague is the headquarters of the Aus¬ 
trian officials, and the seat of a prince-bishop. It 
was founded in the eighth century. The popula- 
lation is about two hundred and sixty thousand. 
The city is nine miles in circumference and divided 
into seven districts. The University was founded in 
1340 and soon became a great centre of learning. 

144 




DA YS IN PRAGUE. 


145 


Later there was a split and thousands of students 
seceded. The Germans who went off founded the 
University of Leipsic. The Prague University is 
still flourishing, attended by two thousand Bohemi¬ 
ans and sixteen thousand Germans. The carriages 
are at the door, so we will see all the rest for our¬ 
selves.” 

Miss Bilton looked startled as when one turns a 
faucet and finds the water supply unexpectedly 
copious, but she whispered to Miss Dwight on the 
way to the carriage: “There is more in Mr. Heath 
than I thought. He has seemed, you know, just a 
little trifling, but I think he can be very improving.” 

With this in her mind, Miss Bilton secured a seat 
next to Mr. Heath, who felt that virtue was not 
rewarded when he saw Dolly snuggle down in the 
next carriage close to the arm of Doctor Tom’s 
alpaca coat. 

“ Where are we going to-day, Mr. Heath,” asked 
Mrs. Thorne. 

“ Do you want to see a royal palace ? ” 

There was a chorus of noes. 

“ Have any of you ever read Schiller’s Wallen¬ 
stein ? ” 

Mrs. Thorne and Miss Dwight had, Miss Bilton 
had not, but she knew the historical facts. 

‘.‘Then I shall take you to Wallenstein’s palace,” 
said Mr. Heath ; “ do you remember that Schiller 
describes many rooms in it? ” 


146 


LOVE AND SNA WL-STEAPS. 


“ Indeed I do,” cried Kate with all a girl’s 
enthusiasm, “ but I thought of it as a poet’s fancy. 
I remember there was an astrological tower, where 
Seni the old astrologer set with Wallenstein the 
horoscope. It was furnished with statues of Jupiter, 
Mars, Mercury, and Venus, all marvellously illumined 
with radiance from a planetary system overhead — 
Venus bathed in rose-red light. Was the palace 
real ? ” 

“ It was, and is to-day as real as ever was the 
Duke of Friedland. I will take you there now.” 

“ It is like opening a door into romance-land,” 
whispered Harriet when, after a drive in the Klein- 
seite, they alighted at the entrance of the palace. 

A guide ushered them into a queer grotto of sta¬ 
lactites, and then went over the part shown to 
visitors. The pillars were of Bohemian marble, the 
walls frescoed, the tapestries showed time and decay. 
Bertha found the very window of the banquet-hall 
before which three generals were hanged duringsup- 
per one night, and delightedly explained how at the 
end of the feast the Duke had the curtains drawn 
back that the official guests might receive an object 
lesson.” 

“ I will show you something prettier,” whispered 
Heath to Dorothy. “ The guide must go his rounds, 
but the rest is stupid.” 

He uttered a few German words in the old chap’s 
ear, introduced a weightier bit of silver into his not 


DA VS IN PRAGUE. 


H 7 


too reluctant paw, and drew Dolly through a near 
doorway. 

“ The rest is all rags, tatters, and moth-eaten 
relics. Let us wait for them in the garden. You 
don’t care anything about an old rascal of a Duke 
dead two hundred years ago.” 

Dolly was half inclined to retreat, but a step 
farther and out from the grim old rooms she came 
into the sunniest, quaintest of prim gardens. It was 
shut in from the noise of the street by a high grey 
wall overrun with ivy. 

“How lovely !” cried Dolly, glancing up at the 
cloudless blue overhead, down at the soft grass full 
of primroses and little pink daisies. The ivy wreaths 
were full of twittering, chirping birds, the white 
butterflies were riotous in the warm, golden air. 

“Yes, is it not beautiful? You never read Schil¬ 
ler’s tragedy, you say? Well, it is a grim, bloody 
tale, but there is the sweetest idyl in it, as unlike 
the wars and stratagems as this garden is unlike the 
palace dungeons. A fair young girl lived here—a 
German Thekla with hair as bright and eyes as blue 
as a girl I know who lived two centuries later. She 
had a lover Max—I have no doubt they have been 
often where we are now. Poor things, their love 
came to nothing but sorrow and heartbreak!” 

There was a tenderness in Heath’s tone which 
prompted Dolly to remark, cheerfully : “ Well, they 
are both as dead now as they would have been if 


148 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


they had not come to grief, so don’t let us worry 
about them.” 

“ You read my letter ? ” 

“ Of course I did, and found it perfectly ridicu¬ 
lous. We all shouted over it.” 

“ Did you read all of it aloud ? ” 

“ Well, no. I think Miss Bilton interrupted, and 
dinner was announced.” 

Heath picked a rose, carefully removed its leaves 
as he said : 

“You are either very kind or very cruel. Will 
you tell me which you mean to be ? ” 

“ I think I hear Mrs. Pollock’s voice.” 

“They can’t get here in five minutes yet. You 
are kind if you mean to let me know that I must 
not put in words what you can see : that I love you 

—because you-Oh, Miss Dorothy, do not be 

cruel! Give me a little hope that when you know 
me better-” 

It was Mrs. Pollock, with Bertha at her heels. 
Bertha, who prattled away about a picture attributed 
to Albrecht Diirer she had just seen in the oratory. 
They all then had to go to the stables, where once 
as many horses as there were days in the year fed 
from marble mangers. Heath, shaking off a certain 
air of preoccupation, put a few questions to the 
guide, who, suddenly beginning to speak English in 
sentences fearfully and wonderfully made, replied : 
“ The possessor of the present, Count Wallenstein 



DA YS IIV PRAGUE. 


I49 


who is, descends himself in straight lines from the 
mighty Duke. He makes ready to restore all things.” 

Doctor Bruce, delighted to hear his native tongue, 
began at once to torture the guide with questions to 
which he had no ready-made answers. Hitherto ex¬ 
planations had been in German, and Kate had trans¬ 
lated. At last he led the company to a room where 
stood what looked to be a big rocking-horse minus 
the rockers. Its hide was like the cover of those 
hair-cloth trunks our great-grandfathers used. 
Around its neck was a curious label written in the 
style of English often found abroad in public places. 
The Doctor, stepping near, read aloud : 

“ This is the horse that bore Wallenstein stuffed 
at the battle of Liitzen.” 

Looking the guide sternly in the face, Tom asked : 
“ Which went into battle stuffed—Wallenstein or 
this curious beast?” 

Mrs. Thorne frowned, but there were giggles and 
titters that caused the guide to assume what in fine 
writing would be called a “haughty mien.” He led 
the party to the street door, and only limbered 
when Tom’s hand met his in parting. 

“ If you had not provoked him, I think we should 
have seen more,” said Mrs. Thorne, after their exit. 

“ We had seen enough,” returned Tom. “ I draw 
the line at equine mummies.” 

This time Heath contrived to get into the carriage 
with Dolly. She dropped her guide-book and scat- 


150 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

tered out some ivy leaves she had picked in the 
garden. He carefully restored them, save one. She 
did not appear to see the theft or the reproachful 
glance that accompanied it. 

“ Let us go home to dinner now,” suggested the 
Doctor, “ then I propose that we hunt up a summer 
garden this afternoon. I delight to sit under a lin¬ 
den tree, absorbing coffee and music, watching the 
peaceful frans and the playful kinder .” 

“ Bravo, Tom,” cried his sister. “ We will have 
you talking Dutch yet.” 

“ Yes, I have begun. The ‘ boots ’ in my hall talks 
English as I talk German. This morning he pointed 
to an old negro passing (the only one in Prague I 
fancy). He said : “ Black man from States, white 
man from States, was macht die difference ? ” 

“ I gave him a Germanico-Englisho ethnological 
explanation, and as light broke in on his mind he 
bellowed : * Ya, ya, mein Herr! ’ then he interpreted 
for the chambermaid, and I made out that he said 
Americans were born red and called ‘ Inzins,’ turned 
white in adult years, and grew black in old age. She 
ya-ya-ed so delightfully that I let the matter rest. 
The old negro will be twice as interesting in their 
eyes after this.” 

By this time the carriages were at the hotel. The 
waiters flew out, fluttering white napkins like doves’ 
wings. Every one of them was, in fact, as harmless 
as a dove and as wise as a serpent. 


DA VS IN PRAGUE. 


151 

The head waiter, smiling sweetly on Mrs. Thorne, 
whispered : “ I know what you Americans like best 
for all meals. I was six weeks in New York. It is 
ice-ice-ice-water, ice-cream, and fried potatoes ever. 
All awaits you.” 

“ He is of the same opinion as the Englishman 
who wrote lately in a London paper: ‘Americans 
actually consider water a beverage. I am told they 
drink it like camels.’ ” 

It was Heath who spoke, assuming a sprightly 
manner as he perceived Dorothy could not be 
made to notice the somewhat exaggerated gloom 
previously expressed in his countenance. She seemed 
unaware of his existence the rest of the day. 

That evening Miss Coxe visited Miss Bilton for 
the purpose of transferring to her journal anything 
that seemed of especial interest. That duty done, 
she sat gazing out of the window at the curious 
eyelids in the opposite roof, for exactly like eyelids 
did the tiny windows look. 

“ Harriet had read Schiller and you had read his¬ 
tory. I never had heard of Wallenstein, but I am 
not a fool.” 

“ Billy ” looked up in distress. “ Why, Dolly, if 
you want to read the play there is an excellent trans¬ 
lation in Coleridge’s poems.” 

“ It is not that ”—Dorothy looked coolly at her 
really sympathetic companion, murmuring, “ I would 
not tell you if you could understand, Billy. If any 


152 


LOVE AND SHA WL-STRAPS. 


one were to love Harriet Dwight, how would he go 
to work to show it ? ” 

This promised to be a dissertation after Billy’s 
own heart. She replied with vivacity : “ He would 
tell her so.” 

“ Of course, you goose, but hozv and with what 
preliminary exercises ? ” 

“ Well, first he would be afraid of her slightly. 
Next, if he got a little way with her he would stick,” 
continued Billy, with more force than elegance. 
“ And for a long time he could not get any further, 
I imagine. Then he would get desperate and she 
would have to listen.” 

“ He would not joke much, I presume, and carry 
it off as an affair half-sentimental, half-funny, with a 
bit of flattery about her blue eyes now and then 
thrown in as one would offer sugar to a—to a 
monkey.” 

“ No, indeed, but Harriet’s eyes are not blue.” 

“Well, say pink, if you like, one color is as good 
as another for illustration.” 

“ Pink eyes ! Why that would make one an Albi¬ 
no. Could a man fall in love with a creature in a 
menagerie?” asked Bertha, a little off the line of 
Dolly’s thought by reason of her double mention of 
pink eyes and a monkey. 

Dorothy disdained to answer, but asked instead : 
“ How would you wish a man to care for you ? ” 

“ Oh, in much the same way that I think Harriet’s 


DA YS IN PRAGUE. 


153 


lover would feel toward her—unless—I don’t mind— 
I mean he need not be afraid of me.” 

“He never will be,” said Dorothy, solemnly. 

“ How is it with you ?” ventured Billy, timidly. 

“It is, and always has been, pretty talk, boxes of 
Huyler’s candy, compliments. It makes me furious. 
I wish it to be a solemn experience. I would like a 
man to feel that he might have to sail through 
bloody seas before he got me,” said Dolly, savagely. 

“ How could he ? ” gasped Billy. 

“ Could he what ? feel so or sail ? He could not, 
so I shall not marry. I am not a canary on a perch 
to be coaxed and coo-ed at. I would wish the whole 
thing solemn, dignified, and rather tragic toward the 
grand finale." 

“ That is much the most interesting way for 
things to go,” agreed Miss Bilton,” but in real life 
we do not seem to scare men. They are as lively 
as can be when they are in love and confident of 
success.” 

“ Quite too confident. Mr. Edgecomb was not at 
all flippant.” 

“ Mr. Heath is not so dignified, but he has a great 
deal of what the French call esprit" added Miss 
Bilton. 

“ Mr. Heath ! ” exclaimed Miss Coxe, with a toss 
that set all the stray curls on her head in a dance. 
“He always has a laugh in his eye no matter how 
solemn and softly he pretends to talk. I would like 


154 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


to make him ache in the very pit of his soul, I feel 
so exasperated with him.” 

“ Why, I had no idea that you disliked him.” 

“ Well, never mind him, Billy. What else have 
you written in your journal that I ought to 
know ? ” 

Miss Bilton meekly reopened her notes and 
reminiscences for Dolly’s benefit, so that no more 
confidences were in order. 

Mr. Heath became a great favorite with Mrs. 
Thorne’s company. All, with the exception perhaps 
of Dorothy, were given to praising him in season and 
out. This was because he showed no apparent par¬ 
tiality, but carried Mrs. Bushby’s wrap, never failed 
to render little services to the elder Mrs. Pollock, 
talked amicably with Florida, and was to every one 
everywhere amiable and not inattentive. Mrs. Flor¬ 
ida had a suspicion that he greatly admired Miss 
Dwight. She mentioned her fancy to Dolly, who 
thought it extremely probable. 

This was, indeed, a matter of fact; at least, if 
Heath did not call the sentiment Harriet inspired in 
him admiration, it was one of hearty goodfellowship 
and esteem. He liked to hear her tell what she was 
enjoying. She talked more when with him than 
with any one else, unless with Mrs. Thorne. She 
found his breezy touch-and-go fashion rather stimu¬ 
lating than otherwise. 

They had been three days in Prague when one 


DAYS IN PRAGUE. 


155 


morning Miss Bilton remarked: “This is our last 
afternoon. What are we going to do?” 

The Pollocks promptly responded that they would 
be excused from joining in any sightseeing. They 
were planning a private coup d'etat. There was in a 
near street a wily Israelite who had in his show case 
an amber comb worth two thalers. He had asked 
Florida six for it, and she felt in her “ innermost ” 
that she could get it at a bargain for four if she were 
persevering. 

“ I will take care of any one of you who wants to 
visit the hospital,” said Tom; “otherwise I go 
alone.” 

“ I shall take a nap and darn my stockings,” put in 
Mrs. Bushby. “ Some days it is heavenly to give the 
go-by to every object of interest outside the hotel.” 

Miss Bilton buried herself for five minutes in 
Baedeker. When she emerged, she exclaimed: 
“ We certainly ought to see the Ghetto here, also a 
very ancient synagogue, the oldest in Europe, the 
only Gothic one.” 

“If Mrs. Thorne agrees, I will show you the way 
with great pleasure. I meant to go there before I 
left Prague,” said Mr. Heath. 

At that moment Miss Bilton, who sat facing the 
door, uttered a cry of half-suppressed dismay. 
Every one looked up to see her color with embar¬ 
rassment as Mr. Hudson, the bald-headed American, 
appeared on the threshold. 


I 56 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

“ Well, well! Here we are again,” he heartily ex¬ 
claimed, shaking hands with Tom and beaming on 
the ladies. “Oh, now, Miss—Em—ah,” he kindly 
grunted, seeing Bertha’s flushes, “ don’t think I lay 
that up against you. Oh, gracious, no ! It was only 
unexpected! Been to Vienna? I have—hottest 
place I was ever in ; and how they tuck it on a 
fellow’s bill! ” 

He dropped into a chair by Tom, and soon the 
two were exchanging Galignani's Messengers and 
the latest items of home news. 

“I think,” said Mrs. Thorne to Mr. Heath, “that 
if you will order a carriage large enough to hold 
those of us who want to go, we will drive once more 
about the city, and will go to the Ghetto or the 
Judenstadt as they call it. We will get ready at 
once.” 

Miss Coxe happened to be the first one down 
again ten minutes later. Mr. Heath was with her 
almost immediately. 

“ I never realized before, Miss Coxe, a fact in 
mathematics—never as I have in the last two days. 
Given, say eight persons, there can be such almost 
endless combinations of those people, and yet two 
particular persons almost invariably not be together.” 

“ I had not thought of it; I am not mathematical,” 
said Dolly, airily, adding with an accession of in¬ 
terest : “ Why did Mr. Edgecomb not come into 

Germany ? I hoped to know him better.” 


DA YS IN PRAGUE. 


157 


“ I wish you wanted to know me better. I think— 
How on earth did Mrs. Thorne ever drill you all 
into such promptness ! ” he muttered, as Kate ap¬ 
peared with Harriet and Bertha. 

“ I have ordered a carriage with plenty of room 
for you four ladies. I will sit with the driver, and 
extract bits of local gossip,” said Heath. 

“ Share them with us when they are worth it,” 
returned Mrs. Thorne. 

“ Look how narrow the streets are getting. I 
think this is a horrid part of the town,” remarked 
Dolly, frowning on Heath, who was riding back¬ 
wards for the chance of seeing her face. Harriet 
looked curiously up at the tall, black buildings 
whose tops were only far enough apart to show a 
strip of sky like a pale blue ribbon. 

“ Have patience, Miss Coxe,” entreated Mr. 
Heath ; “ the synagogue may be very curious.” 

They alighted before a dirty building whose lower 
part Bertha assured them was a thousand years old. 
They groped down steep stairs into a place so un¬ 
canny that Kate told Heath Albrecht Diirer might 
have been inspired there to produce his Melan¬ 
cholia. No cobweb had been disturbed, so they 
hung everywhere like festoons of dust-colored lace 
draperies. Sickly daylight struggled in to mingle 
with the lurid rays from a swinging lamp. 

“ Let us go ; this is horrible ! ” begged Dolly, but 
the rest listened to a withered Israelite not unlike 


158 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


a bat, who fluttered from a corner. Dolly tilted her 
pert nose and made Heath know that she considered 
his choice of sights anything but admirable. As 
soon as he could get the others away he hurried 
them toward the carriage. Blocking the way as 
they came out into the daylight was a hunchbacked 
dwarf, ugly as Quilp. He insisted that everybody 
always visited the near burial-ground older even 
than the synagogue. Miss Bilton started before any 
one could refuse, muttering: “How perfectly fas¬ 
cinating ! ” 

They went up this time. A hill covered over with 
gravestones so jammed in that the foot could 
scarcely find room between them—a hill of graves 
six times covered over and six times filled up, until 
not an inch remained of space. Gnarled unsightly 
trees were wedged in between the stones that bore 
queer emblems of the various tribes. The dwarf 
hopped from grave to grave, chattering a jargon 
meant for English. Dolly turned, fled through the 
gateway, and sprang into the carriage. Heath fol¬ 
lowed her, hoping for a tete-a-tete while the rest 
looked for the grave of a rabbi’s wife that according 
to Bertha dated from 606. 

“ Really,” remarked Dorothy, scornfully, “ I think 
I should have gone to the hospital with the Doctor. 
His horrors would at least have been sprinkled with 
carbolic acid. These are suggestive of nothing but 
Asiatic cholera.” 


DA ys IN PRAGUE. 


1 59 


“Tell me, Miss Coxc, how I can atone for this 
mistake. The afternoon is not gone. Is there no 
beautiful place you care to see?” 

“ Oh, no doubt Mrs. Thorne has something in 
mind that she means us to see. Here they are ! 
Mrs. Thorne, won’t you tell him to get out of this 
part of Prague as soon as he can.” 

By “ him ” Dolly meant the driver, who grinned 
and nodded as if he had heard similar remarks in 
the past. He whipped the air with terrific force, 
while his old horse started off fairly well, but before 
long began to drag. 

“ Let us go as far as the Carlsbridge,” proposed 
Mrs. Thorne, “then dismiss the carriage. It will be 
our last chance for a walk through the city.” 

“Yes, do,” cried Bertha, “ I did not half see the 
great Pulverthurm at the end or the statues on the 
bridge that time we drove across it.” 

When they reached the bridge, Dolly’s temper 
improved. 

“ Is this not beautiful enough to banish your late 
impressions?” asked Heath, as they were leisurely 
strolling along. 

Miss Coxe without replying looked approvingly 
on the fair scene. The golden light of late after¬ 
noon bathed in newer beauty the always beautiful 
city and its surroundings. Massive towers and airy 
minarets stood out against a radiant sky. The 
arches of the bridges were reflected in the waves of 


i6o 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


the Moldau, while almost above them towered the 
grand Hradschin. The previous day had been a 
holy day, so that every shrine and statue along the 
bridge’s span was adorned with flowers or wreaths 
not yet withered. “ You really cannot imagine how 
much there is to see on this bridge,” said Heath. 
“ If you care to know, Miss Coxe, I will point you 
out the queerest statues.” 

She longed to provoke him by a suggestion that 
if he were to tell Miss Bilton it would be informa¬ 
tion more eagerly received and longer treasured, 
but she refrained. Heath would stand much from 
her, but not everything. 

They stopped under the great stone crucifix, 
where Heath, instead of telling her the story of 
the Jew who was forced to erect it, studied her 
face. 

“You make several stops before getting to 
Geneva, so I shall probably get there first.” 

“ Get where ? Oh, to Geneva ; I forgot you were 
going to be there too.” 

She was a little overdoing her role of indifference; 
that was all that gave Heath any comfort. It was 
cold comfort. Leaning over the stone coping he 
reflected that Dolly possibly fancied he wanted to 
start up a brisk and transient flirtation of the sort he 
had sometimes indulged in during the years that 
were gone. To tell the truth, it surprised him that 
this was not what he did want. In Delft he had 


DAYS IN PRAGUE. 


161 


been charmed with Dolly. When she went away it 
seemed necessary that he should follow her in order 
that he might know her better. To have learned 
certain cunning ways she had with her eyes, her 
mouth, her blushes, her laughter, her sudden cross 
freaks—this was not to know her. Perhaps not, but 
after a few days in Prague, Heath" was convinced 
that he had discovered in her all sorts of lovable 
qualities,—even of mental and moral excellences. 
She was, he believed, as intelligent as Miss Bilton, 
but too witty to be tiresome ; as conscientious as 
Miss Dwight, but too shy to reveal anything but her 
lightest thoughts to the world at large. He actually 
did not go widely astray in his reading of her char¬ 
acter, but be that as it might, Heath was fully 
possessed with earnest, loyal love for little Miss 
Coxe. He no sooner realized his sentiments and 
condition than he went to work in the clumsiest 
manner possible to make all plain to Dorothy. 

“ See that good papist over there saying his 
prayers. If I had been trained to pray on street 
corners and the middle of bridges right here and 
now, I would pray for—what do you think, Miss 
Coxe ?” 

“ Oh, any of the Christian graces, I don’t think 
you could go amiss.” 

“ I only want one of the Graces—though she is an 
embodiment of all the rest,” returned Heath, who 
really would not have been so idiotic under other 


162 LOVE A ND SHA IVL- S TEA PS. 

circumstances. “ You would not let me finish what 
I wanted to tell you in Wallenstein’s palace-” 

“Oh, Mr. Heath! do let me tell you the funniest 
thing you ever heard in your life,” hurriedly began 
Miss Coxe, seeing her companions were not near to 
afford her protection from what she detected was about 
to come. “ YoTi know Mrs. Flori Pollock gets a bit 
confused over words sometimes. Well, last night 
Billy asked her if she would not like to go to Spain, 
and Mrs. Pollock said : ‘ Yes, I have always thought 
I would like to see a fight between a bull and a 
trained cuspidor .’ ” 

Heath had to laugh and then follow his tormentor 
to their companions. There would be no under¬ 
standing between Dolly and himself in Prague, but 
at any rate she knew he loved her if his wooing did 
not prosper. The next day Mrs. Thorne’s party 
was en route for Switzerland. Mr. Hudson was with 
them. He had given an entire afternoon to Prague 
and did not think much of it. He expected foreign 
cities to be unlike New York, but in proportion as 
they differed from it, he disliked them. The old 
home of Saint John Nepomuk was full of things that 
he remarked to Tom he “ had no use for.” Tom 
understood him perfectly. The good-natured middle- 
aged Philistine enjoyed meeting so many of his 
country people. He decided to be with them as 
much as was agreeable to them and consistent with 
his own plans. 



DA y.S IN PRAGUE. 


163 

Geneva. 

My Dear Heath, 

The pictures on your Delft-ware are all of blue eyes, 
and I doubt if the films in your kodak will reveal, when 
developed, any pictures in which Miss Dorothy’s form is 
not in the foreground. So, too, if you had your wish and 
were a painter, you would take after Andrea del Sarto, 
and your Madonnas would all be Miss Dorothys. Provi¬ 
dence has confined you to vain wishes to use the brush, 
and it is just as well, for you might not have Andrea del 
Sarto’s skill. Love counts for much in art, but not for all. 
Your heart always fills your head. How often have I 
delivered lectures to you on this point ! It is particu¬ 
larly necessary for you to be on guard against this sin 
with reference to Miss Dorothy. She will not consent to 
be idealized in art or conversation. Your heart must 
stay in your breast and you must hide her away in your 
heart and let her find out for herself that she is there. 
But what is the use of saying this? I have no doubt 
that before you read it you will have managed to make 
yourself regret precipitancy in confessing your state of 
mind, and if my instinct does not deceive me you will 
have some pangs to bear in consequence : but be of good 
courage, these pangs will not be fatal to hope. I always 
enjoy your pangs ; they make you humorous and flighty. 

People are so much more than the places they make 
celebrated, or sacred, except when one is alone. What 
an agreeable round of visits one could pay if the Geneva 
of old were included in the Geneva of to-day ! Our 
consul here says the Genevese now have the morals of 
Rousseau, the principles of Calvin, and the religion of 


164 


LOVE AND SttAWL-STkAPS. 


Voltaire. I would fain get these at first hand in the Rue 
des Chanoines or the Rue de Cornavin or at Fernex. I 
am leaving to-day for a ramble up in the Juras. I shall 
expect to find a letter from you when I return. 

Yours, 

Edgecomb. 


DOROTHY COXE’S JOURNAL. 

July 17th. 

We have seen so much and been in so many places 
lately that my head is as full of pictures as a bazaar is of 
bric-a-brac. Some day I must sort over my experiences, 
and realize where they belong. We had so long a day’s 
journey from Prague, I was so tired at night I have for¬ 
gotten in what place I went to bed. The next day we 
were in Switzerland. We stopped two hours in a little 
hamlet, took a walk, and bought milk in a cabin where a 
woman coolly left her baby near the edge of a precipice 
while she got the milk. The baby seized its mother’s 
half-knit stocking, crawled straight out, and sat on the 
edge of nothing. We sounded an alarm, the mother 
rushed out in wild dismay at seeing the baby—had 
pulled out her knitting-needles. She cuffed its ears, and 
left it where it was. Probably babies hold on to bushes 
when they go over, and learn to climb up again, for most 
of the country is on the perpendicular. 

One day we drove through wonderful scenery, huge 
mountains, waterfalls leaping down into streams that 
rushed through villages full of toy houses. Once when 
the road went straight up toward heaven, as roads often 


DA VS IN PRAGUE. 


1 65 


do here, a woman appeared from an inn leading out an 
extra horse. She hitched him on before the others, and 
walking rapidly along, encouraged him up about two miles. 
She wore a yellow petticoat, blue stockings with a hole in 
each heel, and hobnailed shoes. Her hair was braided 
over white cotton and thrust through with what looked 
like a pewter spoon. She was about fifty years old, but 
she flirted with our yellow-haired driver as if careering 
up a perpendicular hill was the delight of her life. 
Every time she tossed her head she cracked her long 
whip with a snap over the head-horses, and altogether 
she was a fine subject for a shot. 

Yesterday I took another photograph that I am sure 
will be a great success. He was a friar, a Capuchin 
brother, who sat near me, and he knew how to economize 
space even better than Mrs. Thorne with her Gladstone 
bag. He had a brown robe with a hood and wide 
sleeves. In this hood of the robe that reached to his 
heels (the robe and perhaps the hood too) he carried no 
end of papers, spectacles, prayer-book, rolls, snuff-box, 
red handkerchief, and what did not go there, he ran up 
his sleeves. If I were a pretty peasant girl I would 
spend my days by the town pump, washing a little, gos¬ 
siping more, and making a picture of myself to delight— 
tourists. 1 suppose if I could get at Billy’s diary I 
should be surprised to know how many remarkable 
things I have seen ; but she is busy just now writing to 
that Methodist minister my emotions on seeing the Alps. 
If I disturb her she may have another struggle with her 
conscience and refuse to tell him how I felt. She did 
refuse as it was, but I coaxed her judiciously. I know I 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


166 

felt just as she will say I did feel, only I could not ex¬ 
press it. I have told her what to say at the last about 
not writing to him any more. Speaking of consciences, 
Harriet Dwight has one. Yesterday it made her tell me 
something that I fancy she would have kept to herself 
had she not thought it deceitful. She said that Mr. 
Edgecomb was not an entire stranger to her when I 
introduced him to her in Canterbury. She met him 
when he visited in the town near Boston where her aunt 
lived. I have no reason to think it would make any dif¬ 
ference to Harriet (and I usually think girls are of no 
account anyway in times of temptation) yet Harriet 
keeps me from—well, intellectual, spiritual Bostonian, 
and I do not care what else he may be I do believe I 
could shake a little of that high and mighty Edgecomb’s 
composure out of him if I brought all my skill to bear. 
Possibly I might not. I will allow Mr. Heath about 
three days for appearance sake, and up he will pop like 
a Jack-in-the-box at Geneva. If I only knew what would 
torment him, but I seem powerless. He is maddeningly 
good-natured, so buoyantly hopeful that I want to crush 
him. It is queer, for meek men I have disliked. 

Well, we are in Geneva. We arrived this noon. We 
are to rest here, so to-day we did no sightseeing. 

The porter told Doctor Bruce that a “ Mr. Edgeivorth " 
from a near hotel left a card for him, but he could not 
find it. “The gentleman was going to be absent a fort¬ 
night,” and it was “now time for him to return to 
Geneva.” I hope it will be soon—his return. 

Mr. Hudson is great fun. Mrs. Thorne has found that 
he is a Sunday-school superintendent when he is home, 


DA VS IN PRAGUE. 


1 67 


so she lets me chatter at him all I like. He enjoys it, for 
he is the mellowest creature that ever I saw. He fell in 
love with Sarah Somebody “ along in the early sixties ” 
he says. He has told me all about that (Sarah jilted him), 
also about three wives and their courtships. Then be¬ 
tween the wives several women wanted him, as he 
fancies, and I know all their histories. Actually last 
night in the salon I was so entertained by him I could 
not take time to go to the window to see a Punch and 
Judy show. Perhaps I might have gone though if Mrs. 
Florida had not been so persistent in calling me. 

July 21st. Just as I said—that Mr. Heath is in 
Geneva. Billy saw him get off the boat and go to the 
Beau Rivage, where Mr. Edgecomb stayed when here. 

About a week after the Thorne party had arrived 
in Geneva, Mr. Edgecomb returned. He came by 
boat at noon, glanced frequently toward the Hotel 
de la Paix while the passengers were landing. It 
had not altered its position during his absence, so 
pointing out his portmanteau to a hotel runner, he 
betook himself to the Beau Rivage. The hall porter 
greeted him with effusion, running to fetch for him 
a full handful of letters and papers. Dfy'eAner being 
served, Edgecomb stowed away the papers and 
carried the letters to a quiet table in the salle a 
manger, where he could read at his ease. He was 
surprised to find one from Chamonix directed in 
Heath’s hand, for he had just looked up and down 
the room expecting to see his friend. 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


168 

“ Has not got here then,” he reflected. “ That is 
rather odd.” 

The letter looking bulky, as Heath’s letters were 
apt to be, Edgecomb ran his eye over the contents 
of the others, then being hungry, ate his first course 
before he opened Heath’s. He was surprised to 
learn that Heath had made a brief visit to Geneva 
and had gone ; not waiting for Edgecomb who had 
promised to go with him to Chamonix. The letter 
ran after this fashion: 

Chamonix, July 25th. 

I would sling my bootjack into the Juras, Edgecomb, 
if by any chance it could hit you ! Confound you ! 
Why did n’t you send along your good-for-nothing advice 
in time to be of some avail ? I ’ll be hanged if I would 
have taken it in any case. Now put on your sacerdotal 
grin, for of course I have “ gone and done it,” and 
precious little satisfaction did I get out of it. Going to 
“enjoy my pangs,” are you ? Not much, you old ghoul ! 
I shall “ suffer and be strong ” that you may see how 
“ sublime a thing ” is the man you dared to call “ humor¬ 
ous and flighty.”—I, who like the wounded, wild gazelle, 
have fled into solitude that the wound may bleed ! — 
Bah ! I might as well caper like a fool and ring my 
jester’s bells, for that is what she persists in thinking 
me—just a fool au naturel. Never mind that—I stayed 
five days in Geneva. I loath the place : Intoxicated old 
chimney pots lurching around on the roofs ! Long rows 
of mermaid washerwomen tearing buttons by the dozen 
off the shirts of tourists in public. Shops full of green 


da ys in praCue. 


169 


and yellow alpine crystals set in silver gilt—fit ornaments 
for negro girls. Associations ? What do I care for the 
people who lived here and hereabouts ? I went to 
Coppet of course, but as for Madame de Stael, I don’t 
wonder Napoleon banished her. I would, have done it 
myself had I been living and banishing. She knew too 
much ; she was given too much to telling what she knew, 
she was homely. ( “ I doubt if she told that,” commented 
Edgecomb, smiling, “ but I will put in a semi-colon for 
you.”) Was it around here that old Gibbon went down 
on his knees to his lady love ? He being an octogenarian 
and so fat, they must needs call for a derrick to hoist him 
to his legs again. Soul of me, Edgecomb ! Dost thou 
think that what I am now suffering will be recurrent even 
until I become what the old lady called a “ centurion ” ? 
Then pray the gods that I become not obese ! Voltaire 
—his is no name to conjure with, since I saw the old 
beau’s brushes, combs, paint-boxes, his toilet fuss and 
frippery in the days when Frederick the Great tickled 
him with verses and he tickled back with flattery. 

What should I hang around Geneva for ? I came on 
to Chamonix. Perhaps I may be here when you come, 
perhaps not. You have not been here, I believe? Well, 
if I go blind to-night I have seen a sight worth living for 
—I got in under a curtain of fog, met a fellow whom I 
talked with on the steamer. We roamed about the little 
hamlet and found it melancholy, wet, and too much out- 
of-doors. I turned in early. Parker had a room next 
to mine. About four in the morning he pounded on my 
wall, and yelled like a Comanche Indian : “ Get up ! 
Look out of your window.” 


lyo 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


I did it. Take all the pale gold and brightest rose- 
red of all the sunsets you ever saw (I don’t say sun¬ 
rises, for you have seen few) ; pour them in a flood of 
glory over—but you have not seen Mont Blanc. You 
can’t imagine it. I can’t picture it for you. Nothing 
matters much in a universe where such a thing can be, 
nothing transient I mean, nor will much happen to us 
until we grow big enough to see a Mont Blanc in Emer¬ 
son’s way : “ Every object rightly seen unlocks a new fac¬ 
ulty of the soul.” I believe I saw it aright that morning. 

Since I wrote you last I have done Germany ; my 
plans now are rather vague. You will find Mrs. Thorne 
and party in Geneva. They are close by you at the 
Hotel de la Paix. We went together to St. Peter’s, where 
Calvin used to hold forth. Miss Bilton gave me points 
about his life and theology. She thinks he was quite 
right in burning up the other pious chap, I forget his 
name—or come to think of it she doubted if Calvin had 
anything to do with it, but never mind. We went to 
music-box factories, etc., etc., etc. Miss Dwight is look¬ 
ing charming. I tell you, Edgecomb, there are just two 
classes of girls nowadays. One class has brains but no 
heart. The other sort has no brains to speak of, and no 
heart in the place where the heart ought to grow. She 
(the blue-eyed one) cares for fun, dress, operas, excite¬ 
ment, her own perverse way, and to torment men. She 
has not led me on, I confess that.—Her heart, or the 
organ doing duty for one, must be the size and hard¬ 
ness of a pebble. She told me she would “ cut her own 
grandmother if the old lady was not stylish.” She has 
an idea that I am a “ struggling young lawyer.” She 


DA YS IN PRAGUE . 


171 

told me a girl was a fool to marry a poor man, and as for 
her she “hated poverty.” She imposes on Miss Bilton, 
who adores her. She is making a goose of an old fellow 
the Doctor picked up in Germany—but why should I 
scold about her like an old gossip ? Only, Edgecomb, 
sometimes I fancy she is at the core a true, tender little 
woman if one really knew her. One day I saw her out 
for a walk, Mrs. Thorne had stopped by a window, Miss 
Coxe strolled on. I was in a shop, but I saw her. She 
wore a new light gown and pretty, delicate gloves. A 
little wretch of a girl came along with a pitcher ; she 
slipped on something, fell in the mud at a crossing, and 
cut her hand on the broken pitcher. Nobody looked at her 
until Dorothy Coxe (is n’t it a prim little Quakerish name 
for such a creature?)—she picked up the young one, 
comforted her as lovingly as if the mud was not clinging 
to her, gave her some silver, and before Mrs. Thorne 
came up, had hustled her into a cake shop to send her 
off with cheeks, hands, and kerchief full of sweet stuff. 
She coo-ed away to that small brat in a voice to make a 
man—well, grin, I say, if it pleases you ! This time I 
was not fooling. She has treated me as no girl ever 
would treat a man that she cared a straw for. I never 
wish to see her again, unless it is to show her I am alive 
and happy. I may stay in Chamonix for that purpose 
until you all get here. Yours, 

Heath. 

Hotel Couttet. 

For some reason Edgecomb pondered over this 
not at all profound epistle without the superior smile 


172 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


Heath had permitted him in the existing condition 
of affairs. Perhaps a fellow-feeling does make us 
wondrous kind ; at any rate, back of the “ flighti¬ 
ness” Heath used in telling his tale, there was an 
impression given of a sort that made Edgecomb 
sorry for him. He had not “been fooling.” He 
had really begun to love this “ blue-eyed one,” and 
it was going hard with him. Everything he pro¬ 
fessed to believe of her was nonsense, except the 
sincerity of his naive “ fancy ” that she was a “ true, 
tender little woman.” 

Things looked rather discouraging for Heath after 
all, because by his own testimony Miss Coxe had 
not flirted with him ; she seemed merely to have 
snubbed him ; and under “ such circumstance he has 
been a donkey to attempt to rush things as he has 
done,” was Edgecomb’s verdict. 

He continued his lunch, musing if it might not be 
well to take warning by Heath and avoid any possi¬ 
bility of himself coming to grief in the same way. 
Still the cases were quite unlike, Miss Dwight had 
never been repellent, only quietly reserved. He 
would never lose his head and risk matters on one 
stake, when it were wiser to make haste slowly. 
He decided to pay a visit to the near hotel at an 
early hour of the evening. They would not (the 
ladies) be indoors earlier; then it occurred to him 
that possibly he might join them for some excursion 
if he made an earlier visit. He went to his room to 


DA YS IN PRAGUE . 


173 


put away a parcel of Jura specimens, then took his 
hat and hastened into the street. He was a few 
paces from the Hotel de la Paix when he saw de¬ 
scending the broad stairs Mrs. Thorne, Miss Dwight, 
and Miss Coxe. A moment more and he was giving 
and receiving cordial greetings. 

“ You have started for an afternoon of sight-seeing, 
Mrs. Thorne ? ” 

“Yes, we are going to see Ferney, that is if the 
not very lucid directions of the porter enable me to 
find the place.” 

“You do not think you need a protector?” he 
suggested. 

“ Are there brigands on the road ? A protector— 
no—a companion (if you mean yourself) we will 
welcome to make our number even.” 

“ Of course you need a fourth one, social triangles 
are awkward.” Edgecomb promptly added, “at 
least on a pavement. Three cannot well go abreast, 
and one does not want to be either advance guard 
or rear.” 

He led the way with Mrs. Thorne, the girls so near 
that without apparent effort he could see Harriet as 
she serenely gazed into shop windows. 

“ I hope you like Geneva better than my friend 
Heath did. He seems to have shaken its dust off 
in something of a hurry.” 

“ I like it extremely,” replied Mrs. Thorne. “ New 
Geneva is bright, wide-awake, but the Geneva I sup- 


174 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


pose one only sees in history. Its history is so much 
bigger than itself that there is no way of looking at 
it by ordinary measurements.” 

“Yes, somebody has said that from Bonnivard’s 
and Calvin’s time to ours much of the world’s pro¬ 
gress has come around by the way of Geneva.” 

“Turn here toward Place Cornavin. I hope, 
Miss Dwight, you have noted one singularity of 
Geneva : the archways of the older parts. I fol¬ 
lowed the thoroughfares under them one day, and 
the picturesque squalor was peculiar of its kind. I 
never saw such courts in any other city.” 

“ I had a peep in one such place,” said Harriet, 
“ and left Dolly to fill in details.” It struck Edge- 
comb that Dolly was particularly radiant, though he 
could not resolve that radiancy into its component 
elements. She could have told him that one of 
these elements was a Parisian street-suit from the 
finest modiste’s in the city, and another was a hat 
with forget-me-nots the color of those eyes that had 
been poor Heath’s undoing. Edgecomb felt an un¬ 
common degree of sympathy for Heath, and sup¬ 
posed it was the letter working. He noticed for the 
first time in Dolly the innocent little-girl look that 
Tom always saw. He hoped Mrs. Thorne was kind 
and petted her—just as if Dolly all her life long had 
not had the cream off every milk-pan in her vicinity 
skimmed for her benefit. She never asked for it; 
people liked to earn her smiling, dimpled surprise, 


DA YS IN PRAGUE. 


175 

They had not much time for conversation after 
that, because of a crowd of Genevese who were 
also going Ferney-way to some rural fete or other. 
At the gate of the grounds Mr. Edgecomb said: 
“ The chateau is in charge of the most uncivil boor 
it was ever my luck to encounter (I have been out 
here before), but really there is nothing noteworthy 
to see within doors.” 

They rang the bell- which summoned the glum 
individual mentioned. He glanced at them sepa¬ 
rately and collectively before admitting them into 
the rooms once occupied by Voltaire—the rooms 
where he received the messengers of kings and em¬ 
perors, whence he issued his satires, and tried to worry 
his Geneva neighbors out of their religion and their 
democratic manners. Dolly went about, her little 
nose scornfully upturned as she surveyed the faded 
furnishings. 

“ His niece worked the seats of these chairs, did 
she? Well, they are nothing remarkable ! I declare, 
Harriet, if here is not an arrangement made to con¬ 
tain his heart. I never supposed he had any.” 

“ It is dreary ; let us go out in the garden ; that 
looks pleasant,” said Harriet. 

They bestowed a quite sufficient fee on the 
scowler, who critically regarded it before he informed 
them they might breathe the garden air, but were in 
no case to seat themselves on the old benches, or to 
pluck leaf or blossom. The garden was in terraces. 


176 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

and pretty in a certain quaint, artificial way. The 
view beyond it was more attractive, and to see this 
they lingered. 

“The place means nothing to me,” said Kate. 
“It is not that I am ignorant of Voltaire’s life or 
works ; it may be that, being a woman, I cannot 
judge him as impartially as a man might. I think—” 
She was speaking to Edgecomb, but turning, she 
perceived he had not heard. His eyes were fixed on 
Harriet Dwight, who stood apart from them, and 
apparently more indifferent than usual to her sur¬ 
roundings. 

Mrs. Thorne suddenly realized that nobody there 
present cared a pin about her ideas of Voltaire, un¬ 
less it might be Dolly, who had only a vague im¬ 
pression that a fearfully wicked man of that name 
once existed. She had fixed his date about the 
time that Columbus flourished, until she saw the 
chair bottoms which his niece made. They could 
not have been quite so antique. 

After that they wandered about until it was time 
to go back to the city, and Kate was very thought¬ 
ful. Dolly Coxe and Mr. Edgecomb were the ones 
who talked most until they were again in Geneva. 

“ I don’t think that expedition paid,” said Dolly. 
“ I wish we had taken a sail.” 

“In a day or two,” returned Mrs. Thorne, “we 
will sail slowly about the lake, stopping at various 
points as long as we like.” 


DA YS IN PRA G UP. 177 

Mr. Edgecomb was a little disappointed. He had 
hoped they would be going soon to Chamonix. 

As they approached the hotels he turned to Har¬ 
riet, saying : “ It is just the hour when the light on 

the mountains is best. If Mrs. Thorne will permit 
me we will walk a little farther and I will show you 
the view I spoke of.” 

“ Certainly, we agreed to go in to dinner rather 
later than usual,” said Mrs. Thorne, “ for the others 
have gone with Dr. Bruce to Coppet.” At the 
corner she added: “You will excuse me. I am 
tired enough to rest now.” 

Dolly, by a quick movement, paired off with her 
chaperon, who, not quite at ease, went into the hotel. 

“ Oh, don’t look worried,” said Dolly, wickedly. 
“You can surely trust her to a young clergyman. 
Besides, he did it so neatly we had to dismiss our¬ 
selves.” 

“ I am,—surprised, Dolly,” said Kate, pausing 
midway up the wide stairs, and gazing appealingly 
at her companion. 

“ So am I—rather surprised. I thought he would 
fall in love with me, I expected it.” 

“ How long have you known this ? 

“ Since he met us this noon or met her, for he did 
not see any one else;” 

“ I am surprised,” repeated Kate. 

That evening the Doctor and his sister were dis¬ 
cussing various business matters in a quiet nook of 


12 


lyS 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


the then deserted reading-room. They decided the 
questions under consideration, changed one or two 
things in their plans for the next few days, and then 
Kate said : “ Tom ! I never was more astonished in 
my life than to-day. I find a love affair progressing, 
or at least beginning, under my very eyes.” 

Tom laughed with sudden keen delight, saying 
tauntingly : “Very sharp-sighted you have been. I 
saw it long ago. I have wondered where your wits 
were.” 

“You saw it! Tom, you simply fib when you 
say that. How could you ? ” 

“ How ? Why, if ever I saw a person who had 
fallen in love head over heels—who was just soaked, 
saturated with love, it is that fellow—Heath,” 

“Heath?" cried Kate with a little gasp. “For 
pity’s sake whom has Heath fallen in love with ? ” 

It was Tom’s turn to look amazed. 

“ You do not mean to say, Kate, that you have not 
known Dolly Coxe was driving Heath half wild with 
her airs and graces and tantrums? He came to 
Geneva as beaming and rosy as a schoolboy with a 
first prize ; he went away looking like a Wall Street 
broker after a panic that has swamped his last dollar.” 

Kate gazed at the newspapers on the table as if 
she were mentally quoting, “ Can such things be and 
overcome us like a summer cloud ? ” After a pause 
she murmured, “ I thought they had barely become 
acquainted with our girls.” 


DA VS IN PRAGUE. 


179 


“ Oh, Kate, did you mean some one else than 
Heath?” 

“ I meant that Mr. Edgecomb shows very marked 
pleasure in Miss Dwight’s companionship.” 

Tom whistled softly before he suggested : “ Did I 
not understand there were no followers allowed 
when Mrs. Thorne acted as guide, philosopher, and 
friend to her little flock ? ” 

“ I do not see how I could have guarded against 
this—Oh, I do ! It all comes, Tom, of your under¬ 
taking to conduct them in London. You lost them 
and this is the direct result of your carelessness.” 

“ Nonsense, the fellows saw the girls on the 
steamer. You ought to be thankful that you know 
them to be gentlemen and sure to satisfy the old 
folks at home in case they please the girls them¬ 
selves. Is Miss Dwight inclined towards the clergy ? 
Dolly, I must say, has been positively vicious to 
Heath. I was sorry for him the day we went over 
the music-box factory. He was showing her a 
monkey with an internal apparatus constructed to 
make him jump and chatter. Heath made a laugh¬ 
ing speech and I did not hear Dolly’s answer. I 
saw the gleam in her eye and know it was a wicked 
speech, for Heath turned pale and then red. He 
did not speak to her again while we were together.” 

“ He is probably very disagreeable to her. I do 
not see why. I like him, but, Tom, what shall I 
do?” 


i8o 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“Do—why nothing. Why need you worry? 
The girls are giving no trouble, and the young 
chaps must look out for their own peace of mind.” 

“ It complicates matters or I fear it will. I shall 
start around the lake day after to-morrow.” 

The next day Harriet Dwight was quite eager to 
accompany Mrs. Thorne to banks, ticket-offices, and 
shops. That lady thought it possible she had some 
confidences to impart. On the contrary, she talked 
of everything impersonal, was by turns very ani¬ 
mated and again demurely silent. She expressed 
herself delighted to leave Geneva on the morrow, 
whereupon Mrs. Thorne decided that it was all the 
young men who were making trouble, while her girls 
were glad to be free from annoyance. 

They did not see Mr. Edgecomb until evening 
when he met them all in the salon. He learned 
their plans and casually mentioned later that he 
was going to Chamonix in the morning. 

“ We will get along there in a few days,” said 
Tom. Soon after the young man bade them good¬ 
night. He shook hands American fashion, taking 
Harriet’s last. 


CHAPTER SEVENTH. 

UNDER MONT BLANC. 

T HE friendship between Edgecomb and Heath 
was not so one-sided as Heath pretended 
to believe. True, Edgecomb talked less, 
dropped often into a didactic tone, but always list¬ 
ened to Heath’s confidences of what sort soever. 
For several days after they met at Chamonix no 
mention was made of any of Mrs. Thorne’s party. 
They climbed together to the Grands Mulcts ; they 
made shorter excursions in the neighborhood. One 
night they came on a New Haven family known to 
them both: the Brewsters—father, mother, and 
three daughters. Rose, the eldest, was a beauty of 
the finest Irish type, blue eyes, black hair, rosy lips 
forever apart to let out some gay sally. She claimed 
Heath at once as an old “ chum,” and it came out 
that they learned their letters in the same school, 
before the days of kindergarten. 

„ “ Oh, I am so glad to see one of my own country¬ 
men to whom I can talk. How the Englishmen 
swarm here, and are they not funny with the gauze 

181 


182 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


veils around their hats?” exclaimed this Rose, leav¬ 
ing Edgecomb to her parents or her little sisters, as 
he elected, while she chatted gaily to Heath. 

“We are going down the road here to a little 
bazaar, where I saw some pretty trifles that I want 
to buy; won’t you come with us?” she asked of the 
by no means reluctant young men. It was quite 
dark before they reached the bazaar ; for Brewster, 
pere was constantly making detours for various in¬ 
quisitive purposes. The bazaar was a cheerful little 
shop, full of carved wood salad-forks, alpenstocks, 
rock crystals, chamois horns, and rosaries. While 
his companion turned over stamp boxes, inkstands, 
and the utterly useless picturesque little Swiss clocks. 
Heath asked her the home news. She rattled it 
glibly off—weddings, engagements, deaths, and lesser 
items of gossip. By and by Heath made bold 
enough to teasingly inquire after a friend of his—and 
hers. Rose justified her name as she whispered : 
“ It was announced (our engagement) the week I 
sailed. John is coming over to do England with us 
next month.” 

She was a beauty, and never looked prettier than 
with that especially tender light in her bright eyes. 
Heath was warmly congratulating her in the low 
tone suitable for such confidences, when a voice 
startled him : Dolly Coxe’s voice, saying to the shop¬ 
man : “ Let me see that Venetian paper-weight.” 

Almost in the same moment Mrs. Bushby, her 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


183 


sole companion, discovered Mr. Edgecomb. She 
was such a cordial little body that she greeted him 
heartily, then quite flew at Heath, and introductions 
seemed inevitable. The Brewsters were not reserved 
people, and everybody was in the best of spirits. 
Dolly bestowed a bow on Heath before she fell to 
giving Edgecomb animated accounts of their ex¬ 
periences since she saw him last. She was unusually 
rapid in her processes, buying the paper-weight at 
twice its value, and hurrying Mrs. Bushby away from 
a green quartz beetle that lady had almost decided 
to take. She shot one glance at the beautiful Miss 
Brewster that must have photographed her every 
feature on the blank tablets of Dolly’s memory ; 
then she vanished into the outer starlight. 

The Brewsters chanced to be also at the Hotel 
Couttet. All strolled homeward together. Edge¬ 
comb and Heath left their new-found friends at the 
door, and turned to the garden. The moon was just 
coming up over a ridge, the air was soft and full of 
flower perfume from the terraces in bloom. 

They were seated for a smoke on one of the rustic 
sofas, when Edgecomb asked in what struck Heath 
as a decidedly sympathetic tone : “ Did she refuse 

you out and out, Heath?” 

“ No; that is the most galling thing about it all. 
She let me tell her in a dozen ways how I felt 
toward her, and laughed it all away, as if I were a 
boy in a pinafore teasing for jam.” 


184 LO VE AND SHA WL-STRAPS. 

“ Never gave you a word of encouragement ? ” 

“ That is what I cannot tell, even to myself; she 
never said anything very encouraging; but several 
times I could swear that she liked me to love her.” 

“ That may merely prove her a coquette,” com¬ 
mented Edgecomb, adding slowly: “ I surprised a look 
on Miss Dorothy’s countenance to-night that gave 
me a fancy I pass on to you for what it is worth.” 

“ A look ! ” echoed Heath. 

“ Yes, you know she has a very child-like express 
sion, even if she be a flirtatious little minx. As you 
introduced the jam simile, I will put it that she 
looked like a child who discovers another child dip¬ 
ping into her especial jam-pot. Miss Brewster was 
bestowing seraphic smiles on you when she stepped 
from behind a stuffed bear and discovered you.” 

“Yes, she—Rose was telling me of her engage¬ 
ment to John Allen, my first chum at college—So 
she looked at me? I tell you what, Edgecomb, you 
have given me a point. I have been too meek a 
victim. Where are they staying?” 

“Our friends? At the Royal, I think; for Mrs. 
Bushby spoke of the statue of de Saussure in front. 
They came this noon.” 

Heath smoked in silence a while, then casting 
away the end of his cigar, chuckled at some idea. 

“ Look here, Heath, you always go too fast; I think 
I see what you intend ; but unless you are careful 
she will either see directly through your scheme or 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 1 85 

else decide that you do not know your own mind a 
week at a time.” 

“ Don’t you fear, old fellow. I will put in my 
very best work the next few days ; no marked neg¬ 
lect, but quiet, indifferent civility. I will happen to 
be wherever Miss Brewster is. It may possibly 
occur to Miss Dolly that hearts are caught in the 
rebound. I will go slowly, don’t you fear! ” 

When Dolly came back that night from the bazaar 
she did not speak of seeing the young men, but Mrs. 
Bushby saved her the trouble, relating the encounter 
with full details. 

Mrs. Thorne glanced at Harriet Dwight to see if 
she showed any special interest, but Harriet was 
quietly studying a book of Alpine pictures she had 
taken from the centre table. Closing it soon and 
saying she was tired, she went away to her own 
room. There, when the door was locked after the of¬ 
ficious maid, Harriet drew from her pocket a letter. 
The two candles stood on a low mantelpiece under an 
ancient engraving of Saint Cecilia. The corners of 
the envelope looked as if the inclosure had been 
taken out several times. This time as Harriet drew 
near the lights to read, Saint Cecilia might have 
looked over her shoulder; perhaps she did look, in 
which case she read something like this: 

I have known you for two years to-day, and I knew you 
just as well the first day as I know you now, or is it that 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


186 

I know you just as little now as I knew you then ? Did 
our evening together on the jetty at Geneva make me any 
different to you, merely because I put love into words— 
and was punished with serious looks in disapproving 
eyes ? What a beautiful place to tell you in it was ! I 
shall always see the widening blue shadows of the Juras, 
the slanting sunshine beginning to redden Mt. Blanc for 
the “ after-glow," and those pure white swans making a 
voyage of discovery from Rousseau’s island, and flutter¬ 
ing and splashing the water with their wings till they 
made for themselves showers of golden drops. Why was 
it wrong to love you in words, that you must needs 
scold ? I was not scolded when your attention was on 
the cloud-banner streaming from Les Voirons , and mine 
was not, but my immunity then may have been because I 
began talking volubly about the Vaudois when you drew 
your kissed hand away. What will you do with me ? keep 
me always, or see if you can make my love fade like the 
rosecolor on those mountains ? If you did the latter you 
would always find it again the next evening, because you 
are a part of my sense of immortality, else how could I 
have been patient for two years ? You knew last winter 
that I loved you—at least your eyes said you did one 
evening when I was in the little town where I first met 
you. That night you were embroidering yellow chrys¬ 
anthemums on a large square of white cloth. There was 
a Christmas look in your eyes and an expression of con¬ 
tent about your mouth. The light fell softly on your 
hair, your white neck and hands, and the yellow chrys¬ 
anthemums. I looked at you until I saw all the world 
beyond you—all the beauty and goodness of it. Did 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


187 


you not see, when you glanced up that night, that I 
wanted it all—you in it and it all in you ? You are a 
sensible young person, and you do not like me to look 
upon you as a thing of forms and colors ? Love is not 
love when it is wise, for then it is philosophy. 

When I had left you on board the steamboat I had 
just time to secure my place on the banquette of the 
Chamonix diligence, and its wheels and those of the 
Helvetie turned at the same moment. I do not know how 
long Mrs. Thorne will keep you at the head of the lake. 
The pretty pensions down on the shore between Lausanne 
and Villeneuve are very tempting resting-places, where 
the flowing of one day into the next makes havoc with 
pre-arranged itineraries. 

You have a penchant for communing with water-falls. 
The cascade of Arpenaz to the left of the road will de¬ 
light you. The spray takes the form of veiled maidens 
who glide out from the rock two by two, like sister 
Undines. Is it wrong to imagine you in a white veil ? 
Why? But I could not imagine you an Undine; you 
are too warm and sweet and living and quiet. 

When I woke the morning after my arrival at Chamo¬ 
nix, and looked out of the window at steep ranks of 
fir-trees and gleaming white summits, I bethought me 
it was Sunday, and that I must find sermons in stones. 
Heath preferred to rest and read. After breakfast I 
walked up the road to Les Praz, meeting peasant women 
all dressed in black silk, with tight bodice and lace 
caps. I turned off, and crossed the moraine to the 
source of the Arveyron, then made a hand-and-knee 
ascent up the bowlders at the edge of the ice to the path 


188 


LOVE AND SILA WL-STRAPS. 


leading to the Chapeau. I crossed the Mer de Glace, 
intending to return to the hotel by the bridge, lower 
down ; but, as I was leaving the ice, several small heaps 
of stones caught my eye, and in looking for their ser¬ 
mons I discovered they were the clue by which the 
guides conduct parties to the Jardin. Following clues 
is a temptation too great for human nature to resist. I 
therefore saw the Mer de Glace as it should be seen— 
in utter solitude. It was dusk when I got back to the 
Montanvert, and I proved, as I have often done before, 
how much I lack your sedate habit of “considering.” 
To save going on zigzags, I took short cuts till the zig¬ 
zags ceased, and descended the rest of the way over 
slippery, moss-covered bowlders, swinging down on the 
branches of firs. When I reached Les Praz I was a fit 
subject for arnica and commiseration. My clothes were 
wet with Arveyron water, my hands were torn, and both 
ankles were out of repair. I was taken in and comforted 
by a sweet, old motherly peasant in that hamlet, Goody 
Couttet. The moral of this sermon in stones is that I 
need you to look after me on Sundays. I would take 
care of you on week days. Must I ask for you seven 
times, or seven times seven times ? 

J. E. Edgecomb. 

When Harriet finished reading she lifted her eyes 
to the ancient, pictured Saint, and was suddenly 
annoyed, as if by an impertinent presence. She was 
not aware that her grey eyes were as dark as purple 
pansies; that a flame was kindling behind her deli¬ 
cate cheeks, but she quickly extinguished the not 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


189 


very brilliant candles, crossed to the open window 
and stood in the semi-darkness. The night was 
warm, but she shivered and trembled, a great fear, 
a great, sweet surprise filling her heart. The fear 
said, “You cannot believe in this sudden, mystic 
illumination of life; this light that never was on 
land or sea.” The surprise held her startled, ques¬ 
tioning, like a forlorn child straying through a wood 
and coming on fairy-land. To understand her mood 
one must have known Harriet since she herself had 
been a child. She wondered if anywhere nowadays 
another such little girl existed ; if she were any¬ 
where in the flesh, Harriet would have gone a long 
way to say kindly, “ Poor little one ! ” and she would 
have looked at her through tears. She would have 
known this was a child worshipping beauty and 
thinking herself ugly; her vanity not suffering be¬ 
cause of the fact, but something always sadly telling 
her that only loveliness called out love. By some 
quaint reasoning the little Harriet had early felt that 
her lot would be more self-satisfying the more nearly 
she personally escaped observation, the more secret 
she kept her mental processes. Her aunt confided 
to neighbors, when Harriet was not present, that the 
little girl was “very set” but never “troublesome.” 
When Harriet was happy she hid in the long grass 
and enjoyed the sun, the birds and the grasshoppers ; 
when she was reflective she crawled under a huge, 
claw-legged centre table and evolved theories of the 


190 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

universe that would have stiffened her aunt’s hair 
erect. When she was hurt in mind or body this 
child Spartan fled to the remotest corner of the hay¬ 
loft, and firmly shutting her lips, felt herself defeated 
if a tear escaped the fast winking lids and trickled 
over the wee child-woman’s cheeks. Her first per¬ 
manent impression was of belonging to nobody, of 
being lonesome in a very roomy sort of a world. 
When the child grew into the maiden she discovered 
that part of this world belonged to her, all the good, 
satisfying part that lies between book covers. She 
took possession and felt herself enriched. To people 
(children and the poor excepted) she paid little at¬ 
tention in the growing years. They were like chairs 
about a room whose frescoed walls were all that she 
had come to see; chairs only differed in being com¬ 
mon wood or satin draped. Next came her college 
life, which, bringing her into contact with other 
young girls, had been good for her. Now this ex¬ 
perience of a lover—she had thought of the lovers 
of these other girls, critically gauged their mental 
capacities, perhaps wondered wherein lay their charm¬ 
ing qualities. So the unexpected had happened ! It 
came in the person of Edgecomb. When she met 
him in the little New England town, at the time 
spoken of in his letter, she had not a thought of the 
attraction she had for him ; but she ceased to won¬ 
der about those other girls; of a potential lover not 
objectionable she was able to conceive. 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


I 9 I 

Then she came abroad and things were as they 
were. 

Standing this night in the starlight, the sound of 
the rapid rushing river near, the lights twinkling in 
the little village, Harriet was afraid of herself, 
afraid of Edgecomb, most of all afraid of the future. 
Here was an experience she could not carry into 
hiding, and effacing herself make it as if non-existent. 
Another human being, with a strong personality, 
blocked the way under the table or to the hayloft. 
He would be answered. If she were to let herself 
go—to love him ! The knowlege of what it would 
mean to her made her tremble. If she loved as she 
might love, there would be little else in life—nothing 
that did not begin or end in her love. If when that 
was true she found a man’s love—this man’s, good 
for once only?—she had heard of such things. Not 
that she distrusted Edgecomb himself so much, but 
she distrusted the Harriet whom he loved. Perhaps 
that Harriet was an illusion of his own making ; so, 
when he did not find her, the real Harriet would 
lose the love given a fancy. But if the truth was 
in this letter, “You are a part of my sense of im¬ 
mortality”—Edgecomb had written—then—she was 
to see him the next day! Her heart gave a great 
leap. She was glad the candles were out ; no ascetic 
saint could see her face. 

The next morning there was a merry set of people 
before the Hotel Couttet. All the Brewsters were 


192 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


out, and to the delight of the younger ones, so were 
four or five donkeys being led about by their boys, 
who were on the look-out for business. The two 
younger Brewsters were charming little girls of nine 
and twelve. They began to tease their father to start 
at once for the Mer de Glace or on some other ex¬ 
pedition. He refused, decidedly insisting he wanted 
to “ keep still one day to find out how it seemed.” 
Heath, finding the little girls’ chief desire was to 
ride the donkeys, proposed that they mount them 
and go about the village. They teased Rose to join 
them, and she readily agreed when Heath offered to 
walk at her side. They started off with much fun 
and laughter. Heath directed their course, taking 
them in front of the Hotel Royal. Greatly to his 
satisfaction he met Mrs. Thorne and some of her 
ladies. Miss Brewster’s donkey was trying to kick 
his companions; Heath devoted himself to calming 
Miss Rose, who assured him she was not a bit afraid. 
So busy was he that he passed Miss Coxe without 
appearing aware of the fact. Next the children 
wanted their pictures taken on the donkeys, and 
Heath found himself in demand as general overseer. 
As the day passed the father of this lively family 
found it very agreeable to press Heath into service 
for the time being, while he himself took a little 
vacation from active duty. The young man there¬ 
fore had no trouble in carrying out his scheme that 
day and for days to come. 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


193 


Mrs. Thorne’s young people soon became ac¬ 
quainted with the young Brewsters, then all joined 
forces for various excursions. Mrs. Thorne was not 
a good climber, but the Pollocks, with great good¬ 
nature, came to her help, acting as chaperons when¬ 
ever her strength gave out. Mrs. Florida Pollock 
was an imposing figure in the landscape, as wrapt in 
a dark mackintosh she strode along, climbing rocks 
with not ungraceful ease. Her mother, having no 
superfluous flesh, kept pace with Florida, both endur¬ 
ing tramps as long and hard as the youngest among 
them. 

One day all went to the Flegere together, and 
this was Edgecomb’s first talk with Harriet since 
leaving Geneva. Some rode part of the way on 
mules, a few walked, and not long after starting all 
were more or less separated, according to their own 
speed or that of the mules. Tom, the Pollocks, 
Harriet and Edgecomb were finally in one group. 
Edgecomb made himself so agreeable as a guide, 
able to show them all the points along the way about 
which any could ask questions, that he was in de¬ 
mand for the first hour. At a certain stage in the 
upward march they met a lad with a basket of Alpine 
roses and edelweis. 

The Pollocks began at once to bargain for stiff 
little bunches of them glued to cardboard. They 
kept Tom to prevent the youth from demanding an 
unrighteous sum for his wares. 

J 3 


194 


LOVE AND SHAWLS TEA PS. 


“Aren’t they wonderful, Doctor?” cried Flori, 
picking out the very wooliest of the edelweis. 

“ Yes,” assented the Doctor, “ only somebody took 
all the poetry out of them for me by calling them 
‘ a neat little flower in a flannel petticoat.’ 

“ Well, the poor things need to dress warm in this 
climate,” said the old lady. 

“You do not want flowers gummed fast to cards,” 
whispered Edgecomb to Harriet. “I shall find you 
a bunch of fresh Alpine roses before you leave 
Chamonix. Let us go on a little way ahead of the 
others.” 

After climbing the steep approach to the Flegere 
they walked along a grassy ledge faced with stunted 
trees, and sat down to look at the chain of Mont 
Blanc across the valley while waiting for Doctor 
Tom and the Pollocks. 

“ How much whiter and higher the peaks seem 
through these pine boughs than when the eye takes 
them all in with the greater sky beyond,” said 
Harriet. 

“ That is the one virtue of limitation, which is 
otherwise, as Emerson calls it, the only sin. Caesar 
is greater seen through the pierced robe held up to 
the rabble by Antony than he was at the feast of 
Lupercal, refusing the crown. It is always best to 
look at the greater through the less, and at the less 
either in or from the greater. Nobility is brought 
out and made impressive only by contrast with some- 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 1 95 

thing that might be called noble by another contrast 
with something below it.” 

“ What is the last rugged mountain this side of 
Mont Blanc ? ” she asked. 

“ The Aiguille du Midi.” 

“And the next one?” 

“ The Aiguille de Blaitiere, and behind it the 
Crepon.” 

“ They look as if sculptured over with mural 
figures, like an Egyptian temple. There is even a 
hawk-faced god.” 

“ Osiris or Horus, somewhat timorous at that alti¬ 
tude, and flattened close to the rock, with his legs 
braced against the spurs of the mountain.” 

“And behind him,” she added, “ are three kings 
and a troop of slaves, all clinging to the precipice.” 

“ Which peak do you think most beautiful ? ” 

“ The rocky one on the left of the glacier.” 

“The Aiguille du Dru ?—the manliest mountain 
in the Alps, with the exception of that hoary old 
patriarch, the Matterhorn. Both look lonesome.” 

“ The Dru is not alone; he has a companion.” 

“ That is Madame the Aiguille Verte, a thousand 
feet higher than her husband.” 

“ They were exquisite early this morning, with the 
sun shining through their wreaths of cloud.” 

Edgecomb was not looking at the Aiguille Verte, 
but at Harriet. The climb had deepened the glow 
in her cheeks; she had removed her gloves, and was 


196 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 

arranging a bunch of bluebells gathered on the way 
up, and watching a bee rummaging in one with the 
peculiar thoroughness of Swiss and Savoyard bees, 
which seem to know that they have to compete with 
imported honey. When Harriet looked up and met 
Edgecomb’s eyes, she turned away her face and said 
gravely : 

“ We must be only friends ; you must not look at 
me like that.” 

“ Of course we must be friends,” answered Edge- 
comb, picking up a fallen bluebell, “just as we 
always have been. Only friends? Your honest ‘ no ’ 
in Geneva, when I asked you to marry me, did not 
make me unhappy. Your love as my friend is 
sweeter than any other love could be, except what 
you might add to it ; and if I choose to look at love 
through your friendship I do but follow my own 
principle of looking at the greater through the less.” 

“ Love and friendship are distinct. You have my 
friendship, but I do not wish you to look at me as 
you did just then, or to speak and write to me as 
you have done, as if you went on expecting more 
than I can give. I want to do what is right, and 
you cannot judge. How can I listen without seem¬ 
ing to assent to your hoping for what you may never 
have ? ” 

“ Do you not feel that you are more my friend 
than you were a year ago ?—that your friendship was 
not something given complete ? ” 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


197 


“Yes,” she slowly answered. 

“ Why should I not believe it will be more in 
another year ? ” 

“ Perhaps it will. Why are you not content with 
it?” 

“ I am,” he said, smiling on her. “You knowhow 
dear it is to me, and I think of your love to come as 
opening in it some day, like a flower, to the sur¬ 
prise of both. I would rather be loved like that than 
in any other way, and not be sure until I knew.” 

Harriet was silent. “ Not be sure until he knew,” 
she thought, remembering her emotion a few nights 
before. “ And I—how can I know until I feel sure ? ” 

It was evident to the young man watching the 
sedate resolution of her mouth that he would have 
to wait longer. 

Dr. Tom and the Pollocks coming by, Harriet and 
Edgecomb joined them, and Harriet puzzled Doctor 
Tom by seeming to prefer his society to that of any 
of his companions. 

It was Sunday. All of Mrs. Thorne’s 
flock but Dorothy had gone decorously to church in 
the morning, and in the afternoon were reading, 
writing letters, or roaming about the grounds. 
Dolly was perverse ; she retired to the summer¬ 
house, but was no sooner joined by Miss Bilton 
with her journal than she departed house ward. 

“ Going to take a nap ? ” asked the Doctor, meet¬ 
ing her in the hall. 


198 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ No ; I was going to be pious and peaceable in 
the summer-house, but Billy arrived. I saw the 
whole of Coleridge’s Hymn to Mont Blanc in her eye. 
I escaped as quick as I could.” 

Tom laughed, leaving her to her own devices. 
She espied two elderly English spinsters just then 
descending the stairs, with respectability in every 
fold of their precise garments, and prayer-books in 
their hands. 

“ I will go to afternoon service myself, and I will 
go alone,” thought Dolly. “It is four o’clock; in 
this little hamlet, the streets full of folks going to 
that English church, I can be perfectly safe.” 

She rushed to her room, put on her newest hat, 
the Geneva “ creation ” ; seized gloves and handker¬ 
chief ; then, with amazing forethought, wrote on a 
card “ I have gone to church,” leaving it pinned on 
her table-cover, in plain sight. 

It was a pleasant walk to the pretty English 
church, for a while along a way thronged with 
tourists. Few, however, proved to be going where 
she was, but ahead she saw the English ladies mov¬ 
ing steadily churchward. Service had begun, yet 
almost all the seats were vacant. She went half-way 
up the aisle before she seated herself, glancing about 
to see if any acquaintance might be present. Dolly 
felt vaguely penitent for undefined sins, and desirous 
to be good ; but when such an attack came on she 
did not care to have persons she knew within reach 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


I99 


of her. They might take advantage of her state of 
mind. There was a prayer-book in the seat, and 
Dolly, with the best intentions, tried to find the 
place, but, not being an Episcopalian, she kept open¬ 
ing to the marriage service and the baptism of in¬ 
fants. Finally she gave up the attempt, but listened 
attentively ; that is she did so until turning her eyes 
toward the near wall she discovered just above her 
a window. It was not large, but it framed Mont 
Blanc: just that in the glorious afternoon sunshine; 
above it infinite depths of blue heaven. A sudden 
shiver of awe touched with delight ran over the girl; 
the keen realization that she had come to church for 
a freak and caught a vision of glory in this place. It 
seemed to her she had not seen Mont Blanc at 
all before. She had regarded it as a huge ice- 
hill, on which you could see through a telescope 
climbers tied together like flies along a black sewing 
silk. She forgot the preacher, did not care who was 
in the church, saw only the mountain of glory ; but 
no sermon would have been better for her. Dolly’s 
soul—she had one—shook itself free from nonsense 
and frippery—thought real thoughts, worshipped. 
She never would forget that holy hour even if when 
it was too much for her spiritually as the ice glitter 
became for her eyes ; then she came back into the 
little church, and quite sincerely confessed her sins 
with the rest of the congregation. 

By and by the service ended. The clergyman 


200 


LOVE AND SNA WL-STRAPS. 


retired into a side room, while the few people went 
out after fewer salutations. They were for the most 
part strangers to one another. Dolly wore a black 
lace gown. When she stood to pass out of the seat, 
a fold of it slid into a crack at the end of the pew, 
holding her fast. Her first twitch to free it jerked 
it into instead of out of the trap. She looked for 
help, but all the people were so remote she must 
call out loud, a sexton was not in sight. She was 
tugging stoutly at the lace, about resolved to tear 
herself free if she ruined one of her prettiest gowns, 
when working his way toward her came Heath. 

“ For once say you are glad to see me.” 

“ Yes, I am—if you can be of any use. I seem to 
have joined this church against my consent.” 

“Poor old pew,” said Heath. “I don’t wonder 
you hate to have her leave you. I would hold on to 
her if I were in your place.” 

“ I can tear myself free if you think it caught 
firmly,” remarked Miss Coxe, quite icily. 

Heath expostulated, insisting it was a very simple 
matter if she would not be impatient. He took out 
his pocket knife, inserted the large blade in the crack, 
and with a glance out of the door now and then, took 
all the time he dared to take before the gown was 
loose. He was then rewarded by the knowledge 
that they would walk alone, at least half the way 
home. The church had been set quite outside the 
village. There was a pretty path from the door, 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


201 


just a beaten footway across a wide meadow, and 
then a straggling lane of a street. They had gone 
but a few steps when Dolly cried out : “ Oh, see the 
little wild flowers in the grass! ” 

“ Lovely, let us get some,” returned Heath, glad of 
another pretence to loiter ; but Dolly kept making 
fair progress onward, plucking blossoms as she went 
with a grace Heath found very distracting. There 
were nestling in the short green turf pink-tipped 
daisies, forget-me-nots, with quantities of pale, 
yellow, and white violets. Heath picked only one 
sort, so that by and by he had a fine cluster; 
then he said : “ See, Miss Coxe, how beautifully 
these blue flowers match those in your hat ! ” 

He held them out to her, well knowing their 
name. 

“ No, thanks, I have picked a lot of those myself, 
put them in your button-hole.” 

“ Change with me?” 

“ Mine are mixed flowers. I like mine better.” 

“You don’t want to give me a forget-me-not; 
penurious creature you.” 

“ I am not. See here ! I will give you half my 
little violets, with the German significance included.” 

Heath grasped the flowers, almost the little kid 
glove, but that was too quick and slippery. 

“ What did you say about-” 

“ This little violet—the Germans call kleine Stief- 
mutter , or little step-mother. It is a cute name for 



202 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


them. If you will be sentimental press it in your 
letter of credit and always think of me as your step¬ 
mother. I would like that dearly,” said Dolly. 

“ We are not German, these violets sprang from 
French soil inimical to everything German. I don’t 
want a step-mother. No, violets like these mean 
heart’s-ease ; you are adorable to bestow that on me. 
The big ones are almost pansies, and pansies are 
thoughts. I delight to know you give them also 
to me.” 

“ It is Sunday, and I was feeling spiritually 
minded until you appeared ; besides I ran away, so 
I must hurry home or Mrs. Thorne will worry.” 

“ So was I, Miss Coxe, in anything but an every¬ 
day mood as I sat back there in the church. This 
seemed to me the most beautiful day of my life, or 
rather I felt it easily could be that if the girl I love 
with all my heart could only love me. I know you 
are not hard-hearted—I saw your face when you 
turned it toward the window to-day; you were 
thinking good sweet thoughts. Why are you so 
hard to me ? Will you not at least, Dorothy, tell 

me if you like me?” 

* • 

She looked at the flowers in her hand, at those 
along the path, at the great white mount—almost 
against her will at the earnest face, the pleading eyes 
so near her own, then she admitted: “Yes, I like 
you, but I wish you would not tease me, I did not 
come abroad to—to—for that. I wish to see all 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


203 


the objects of interest and to improve my mind. I 
have done very little of it since you appeared.” 

“ Have n’t kept up that diary ? ” 

“ No ” (severely). 

“ Might put me in ” (tenderly). 

“ I spoke of objects of interest. Here we are in 
the street. I think you might better go on and 
leave me. * It is not the thing at all for us to be 
meandering around with no chaperon; just go on 
very fast—No ! good gracious, don’t ! See those 
horrible cows tossing their heads,” and cowardly 
Dolly grasped his arm, pale and panic-stricken at 
four happy little beasts coming down the lane shak¬ 
ing their musical bells. 

“ Don’t be afraid. I have no doubt some of them 
may be vicious,” fibbed Heath, who knew that the 
gentle creatures usually slept under the roof and 
made part of the family of their owners. “ I won’t 
let one of them come near you.” 

He took excessively good care of her as long as 
she would permit, wishing with all his heart that 
every cow in Chamonix would be just then taking 
her walk abroad. 

“ Before we come where people are, Miss Coxe, I 
want to show you my mother’s photograph, a new 
one I received yesterday.” He drew from his coat 
a flat case holding several pictures, mostly of little 
nieces. Dolly had seen them before. In running 
them over in haste to find his mother’s picture he 


204 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS,. 


did not notice (but Dolly did) a photograph of Rose 
Brewster. She had given her own and her sisters’ 
to him the day before, but he had forgotten the fact. 

Dorothy said some very civil things about his 
mother, but so dryly that the warm-hearted fellow 
felt suddenly depressed, reflecting: “It is no use; 
if she cared anything about me she would have been 
interested ; she really acted bored.” 

Truly, Dolly had left her goodness back with the 
prayer-books and the wild flowers. She grew posi¬ 
tively hateful before they reached her hotel. Ob¬ 
serving that he wore a particularly well-fitting 
London coat, she commiserated him on the wrinkle 
that was somewhere on his back. Driven to des¬ 
peration, he told her he intended to leave Chamonix 
on the morrow. 

“ Do you, indeed ; then it is not likely we shall see 
you again. We are about decided to go no farther 
into Italy than Venice. The Doctor does not think 
it advisable this time of year. We may go from 
Venice to Paris and stay there. It is uncertain where 
we will go. Good-bye; remember I would have 
been your step-mother if you wished it.” 

“ Oh, Miss Coxe, do be my step-mother, grand¬ 
mother—any relation with ‘ my ’ before it, do.” 

“ Stop, stop, here comes Mrs. Pollock,” and bid¬ 
ding him a formal good-afternoon, Miss Coxe disap¬ 
peared into the hotel. 

Heath was rather more miserable than ever before 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


205 


since he first saw Miss Dorothy Coxe. All his 
scheming had come to naught. Miss Coxe had 
sought Miss Brewster’s acquaintance, had declared 
her charming. Miss Brewster had actually several 
times given him the slip and joined Dolly for a walk 
or talk from which he was excluded. Was ever a 
man so tantalized ? 

Doctor Bruce was predestinated to live and to die 
a bachelor. No one who knew him well ever dis¬ 
puted that fact. He had never been “ disappointed,” 
he was far from hard-hearted ; but all the sentiment 
he possessed found full exercise in vicarious love- 
making. He dearly loved to find out every heart 
affection that fell under his suspicions, whether of 
the sort taken note of by medical authorities or 
more occult varieties. His patients were always 
confiding in him and (if Kate could believe him) he 
had often been a guardian angel in difficulties of 
parents and children ; persuading obstinate papas or 
influencing foolish young people. One thing was 
certain : he had boundless curiosity and not too 
great sensitiveness about meddling with other 
people’s affairs. 

The last evening of his stay in Chamonix Mrs. 
Thorne sat with him in the little balcony of her 
room, watching the sunset. At least Kate was 
watching, but finally noticed her brother smiling 
down on some one in the plaza below. 

“ There is that Hudson down there, fie arrived 


20 6 


LOVE A ND SHA WL- S TEA PS. 


yesterday, has ‘seen it all,’ and goes on to-morrow 
the same way we go. He is a clever old fellow; we 
had a long talk to-day, and really I felt like helping 
the poor man.” 

“ Why, I thought you said that he had means.” 

“ Oh, he has money enough ; he wants a wife.” 

Kate turned toward Mont Blanc with scorn 
ineffable. 

“You see, before he sailed he had not had time 
to be lonesome after the funeral, and he was in a 
New York boarding-house just full of widows and 
spinsters, the most of them ‘ too willing,’ as he 
said.” 

“ Tom ! a widower’s vanity is vaster than—Mont 
Blanc itself.” 

“ I grant you ! but boarding-house-femininity often 
is of the ‘ Barkis ’ order. When he got over here, 
he says, he began to want some one to care whether 
he enjoyed himself or not.” 

“Sweetly unselfish, is n’t he?” 

“ Yes, that is only one side of the desire to give 
somebody else pleasure ; then he says he sees people 
delighted with buying pictures, bric-a-brac, and trash 
from every bazaar, while he has nobody to buy the 
stuff for. Yes, he offered the biggest wooden bear 
in Berne and a Swiss chalet to a pretty American 
girl who was hankering for both, and he seemed 
surprised that her mother was indignant enough to 
scalp him. He loses his clothes in the wash, and he 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


207 


calculates the holes in his stockings and the minus 
buttons on his shirts cost him ten francs a week.” 

“ Truly, he confided in you like a man and a 
brother.” 

“ That he did, I have not begun to tell you all he 
said.” 

“ Don’t try ! I will imagine the rest. However, 
Tom, I have no doubt that you led him on like the 
very old gossip that you are.” 

“ Softly, now, he needed no encouragement. The 
fact is he startled me by one request; but I agreed 
to find something out for him.” 

Tom began forthwith to laugh, swallowed a whiff 
of tobacco smoke and made such an ado that Kate 
said: “ Do step in, Tom, until you can control your¬ 
self, people below are looking to see what ails you.” 

Wiping his eyes, the Doctor threw away his cigar 
and proceeded. “ Mr. Hudson asked me (in confi¬ 
dence of course or I should not have come right away 
to tell) if my sister ‘ had any idea of changing her 
condition ’—and—and—well, if I thought it would 
do ‘ later on ’ for him to ‘ sort of lead up to that 
idea.’ I believe those were his exact words.” 

Mrs. Thorne looked at her brother Thomas. He 
began to feel an icy chill from the Alps penetrating 
to his very bones. 

“ I supposed my brother was too much of a gentle¬ 
man to discuss his sister with any—any—travelling 
tramp.” 


208 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STkAPZ. 


“ Oh, come now, that is hard, Kate, hard on me 
and harder on poor old Hudson. He means one 
hundred cents to the dollar every time. Of course 
I was not going to have you tormented. I told him 
your heart was buried in the grave or that you were 
engaged to the governor of one of our biggest States, 
I forget which, for I thought of both excuses simul¬ 
taneously ; anyway he saw it was no use, so he never 
will think of it again. In fact, right away he asked 
if Mrs. Bushby was a ‘ pleasant person.’ ” 

“You can tell him,” said Kate, still frigid, “that 
Mrs. Bushby told me that she has a large pension 
which enables her to live at her ease, and she never 
will 1 lose it for any man ’ unless she loses her wits 
first.” 

“Really, now,” said Tom, meditatively, “some¬ 
times I fancied little Bushby was uncommonly agree¬ 
able to me.” 

“ What I said about the vanity of widowers applies 
to all men everywhere.” 

“ Humph ! Thanks—narrowing down for Hudson, 
is n’t it? Misses Dwight and Coxe counted out. 
There is Miss Bilton, nobody can deny that he was 
very much struck by her the first time they met.” 

Kate refused to smile. 

“ I will drop this subject once for all, Mrs. Thorne, 
when I have made one remark. I consider it a 
beautiful work of Christian charity to befriend a 
lonely countryman desolate in a strange land. You 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


20Q 


are without compassion. It will be a righteous 
judgment if every maid and madam in your care 
becomes engaged before she sees again her native 
shores. ” 

Mrs. Thorne remarked on the afterglow. 

After a good deal of amiable discussion it was 
decided that Edgecomb, Heath, and the Doctor 
should start on foot from Chamonix across the 
Tete Noire. The younger men intended to walk the 
whole way to Martigny, starting early in the morn¬ 
ing. Tom thought it likely that his enthusiasm 
and his legs would give out about midway, in which 
case he would join himself to the ladies who, start¬ 
ing about eight in carriages, could easily pick him up 
on the road. Mrs. Thorne’s plans for her route 
after leaving Martigny were clearly defined ; those 
of the young men were not at all clear even to them¬ 
selves. Had either of them received encouragement 
to become literally “ followers ” of the ladies, Mrs. 
Thorne’s prejudices might have been overborne; as 
it was, Mr. Edgecomb was inclined to go at once to 
Venice. Heath faced to a different point of the 
compass every half hour. 

The morning came, a clear, delicious dawning, the 
mountains violet in shade, pricked out in gold 
against the sky lines, all the valley odorous with 
sweet clover, quiet except for the kine with their not 
unmusical bells. It was three hours later when our 
young people were saying good-bye to chance ac- 

44 


210 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


quaintances, giving last glances at Mont Blanc 
through the hotel telescope, buying from the head 
waiter photographs of the Saussure monument. In 
return he was bestowing on each a dainty bouquet 
of pinks or pansies when the word came to start. 
Two clumsy but comfortable carriages carried the 
seven ; with each carriage was a talkative driver, 
whose French being half English was pronounced 
by Florida remarkably “ pure." She sat near her 
driver, extracting many very entertaining facts from 
him, which she generously shared with her mother, 
Harriet, and Bertha. For a long way every one was 
looking backward, not forward, all loth to know 
Mont Blanc was visible and they were turned from 
it, but after a while simpler sights amused : the 
meadows green as velvet, the profusion of wild 
flowers, the women with bundles of hay covering 
heads and shoulders, children chasing them with 
boiled eggs and home-made lace, goats climbing 
rocks—everything entertained them that summer 
day. They met few vehicles—a fact they rejoiced 
in later when to pass a carriage would have been an 
exciting experience. The driver told them that two 
wagon loads of Cook’s excursionists had gone along 
an hour earlier. It is a principle no driver from 
Chamonix or Martigny ever violates, that wherever 
horses can walk without sliding down hill of their 
own accord they should be made to walk. To go 
slowly is to go safely, to give time to see the scenery, 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 21 I 

and it is more agreeable to beast and cocher. Pierre 
Froissard also explained to Florida that la Blanche, 
as he called one fat little animal, “was not so much 
stout as she had the air.” After an hour or more 
Harriet and Bertha begged Pierre to let them get 
out for a walk. He gladly consented, so the two 
girls were soon finding delight at every step, while 
they easily kept the rest in sight, or often passed 
them. The road ran through lonely valleys shut in 
with lofty pine-crowned hills, or through ravines, 
over rude bridges, along precipices. Below roared 
and dashed in maddest fury the Black Water, bely¬ 
ing its name, for it was either foam-white, green, or 
the color of cafe-au-lait. 

“If I had made Switzerland,” said Harriet, with 
the beautiful irreverence of a child, “ I should have 
thought only about getting the biggest rocks, the 
wildest torrents ; I might have gotten Mont Blanc all 
right. What I should have forgotten would have 
been these maiden-hair ferns and these fairy-like 
mosses behind the bowlders. It had to be God for 
all Switzerland.” 

“Yes,” said Bertha, understanding her perfectly. 
She always understood if one got far enough from 
common affairs, sometimes from common-sense. 
By and by Bertha walked ahead, leaving Harriet 
alone. It was about high noon, yet the light was 
solemnly green, for no direct sunrays seemed able to 
penetrate the sombre solitude. The road was just a 


212 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


ledge above the vast gorge below, in whose depths 
rushed the mad river, a ledge under rocks whose top 
she could not distinguish. A few steps farther and 
she passed under an archway, to come out and stand 
forgetful of everything but the grandeur about her. 
Bertha came hurrying back to tell her Mrs. Thorne 
feared she would slip over the bank or get too tired. 
She advised her to get into the carriage again until 
they reached the Hotel de la Tete Noire, where 
they would stop for dinner. It was but a short time 
before they drew up at the pretty little inn and over¬ 
flowed into the dining-room, giving vent to joyful 
exclamations at sight of the white-spread table 
already boasting strawberries, white bread, honey, 
and glass pitchers of milk, while various odors in the 
air suggested fragrant coffee and hot viands. 

“If we did not pass the gentlemen they must be 
here,” said Mrs. Bushby. 

“ Not of necessity,” replied Kate ; “ for they meant 
to strike off at some point for special views. They 
told me to be at ease even if they did not appear in 
Martigny for twenty-four hours after our arrival. 
There are several attractive places along here and 
nothing dangerous; but I will ask.” 

A pleasant old woman sat in the homelike office 
knitting. She had no English but “ My daughter 
she comes.” 

She came; a handsome woman with a coffee-pot 
and a smile of welcome. She glanced at each, hesi- 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


2I 3 


tated a second between Mrs. Bushby and Mrs. 
Thorne, then advancing to Kate, gave her a note. 
While Kate read it, the woman answered the rapid 
questions of the others. 

Dear Kate : 

Don’t be in the least frightened by any stories they 
may tell you here or later on the road. Heath has had 
a fall, he is pretty well scratched and shaken—not a bone 
broken. It happened a mile or so back ; fortunately one 
of Cook’s carriages came along. It was only half filled, 
so we put Heath in. He has some sprains and strains 
that give him a faint turn now and then ; but he felt 
better after a cup of strong coffee. I, being about 
walked out, will go on with him in this conveyance of 
Cook’s. He might want some coddling on the road. 
It is just as well, for I will have your rooms engaged, 
and dinner ordered at Hotel du Mont Blanc. Edgecomb 
has gone off on a side issue. He fell into a chat with an 
Englishman from Oxford, professor of something Edge- 
comb seemed to be up in ; so they have started for the 
Gorge du Trient together. Don’t meddle with the roast 
beef—you have n’t the muscle for the contest, and the 
beef has ; the chicken is good. 

Au reservoir and avoirdupois. 

Tom. 

Kate read the note aloud, all but the reference to 
the roast beef and the burlesque French, then list¬ 
ened to the woman’s account. She said the young 
man was very white, a place was cut on his head. 


214 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


It bled so freely she feared at first that he was badly 
injured. He tried to make a “ leetle fun” when 
they helped him into the house, then he “ fainted 
quite.” 

Everybody was loud in expressions of sympathy, 
except Dolly. She had listened intently to the 
Doctor’s note. Now she slipped lightly back of the 
landlady, picked a strawberry out of the dish, and 
heartlessly proposed: “ Let us hurry up dinner, 

and do our mourning between the courses. He is 
only ‘ cracked around the corners,’ as the darkey said 
when he fell out of the hen-roost, while we are 
simply famished.” 

The woman took the hint, vanished to return with 
a lunch ; then, while the horses were resting, the 
ladies walked about or climbed a wooden observa¬ 
tory near the hotel, from which they could have a 
fine view of the grand gorge of the Eau Noire. 

Mrs. Thorne and Bertha were the last to linger 
there. 

“ Is it far to the gorges where Mr. Edgecomb 
has gone ? ” asked Bertha. 

“ Not over a half hour’s walk.” 

“ Mrs. Thorne, do you know what the word 
‘ alder-liefest ’ means ? ” 

Kate looked puzzled, saying: “ I ought to know, 
it sounds like old German,—no, Saxon.” 

“ It is Saxon,” interrupted Bertha, eagerly. “ I 
heard Mr. Edgecomb use the word and I looked in 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


215 


a dictionary. Alder was Saxon for * all ’—liefest for 
* dearest.’ There was a reference to Shakespeare, 2 
Henry VI., i., i., showing its use.” 

“You are interested in the study of words.” 
“Yes;” and then Bertha honestly added: “I 
wanted to know what he meant.” 

“ Did he apply the word to you ? ” 

“ No, he did not mean me to hear it; he said it 


“ There, Bertha, wait—if you had found a key of 
his to a private drawer, would you come to ask me 
to examine its contents with you ? When Mr. 
Edgecomb talks Saxon to you I will listen to confi¬ 
dences, but not before. There, don’t feel hurt. Let 
us go down and see them bring the horses around.” 

A few moments before they were ready to start 
Mr. Edgecomb appeared. Every one was startled 
by his unfamiliar aspect, but he began at once a 
laughing explanation. His head was crowned by a 
big sunburned straw hat, adorned with a red ribbon, 
a rent in his coat starting between his shoulders 
went half way down his back, while all the rest of 
his attire was more or less a picture of “ looped and 
windowed raggedness.” 

“ ‘ Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ’—above all 
things, Miss Coxe, don’t laugh at this hat. I had to 
pay an exorbitant price to a stableman for it, and I 
flattered myself you would say it gave me a brigand¬ 
ish air. I hope,” he said, turning to Mrs. Thorne, 



2l6 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ that you were not alarmed by anything you 
heard.” 

At that every one rushed at him with questions, 
and would only be satisfied with full details. He 
told them of the morning, how all enjoyed it. Heath 
and he had been, toward noon, in advance of the 
Doctor and an Englishman who left Chamonix with 
them. Heath had been in one of his extravagant 
moods. In fact, Edgecomb had enticed him ahead 
because of the information (falsely so called) which 
he was viciously imparting to the learned but con¬ 
fiding Oxford professor, who strove to inform him¬ 
self on American colleges. 

After a while in the wildest part of the way Heath 
discovered a curious formation of rock a little way 
down the precipices overhanging the gorge, and he 
declared his intention of seeing it closer. Edge- 
comb regretted later that he had promptly called 
him “ foolhardy,” forgetting that in some moods 
reason was the one thing that irritated Heath. To 
reach the rocks looked impossible. Once down 
there was a ledge that might be firm or might not, 
and below, a horrible descent into rapids like those 
of Niagara—at least in turmoil. 

“ Heath took off his coat, carefully made his way 
perhaps four feet down, then slid, tore up bushes—” 

Edgecomb gasped a little in his narration and 
merely added : 

“Well, he found the peculiar formation and 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


217 


stopped short of the abyss. He was knocked half 
senseless.” 

A chorus of groans went around, then a double 
row of questions. 

Of the rest Edgecomb made brief mention. 
Cook’s carriage came along, there were several 
men in it, and the driver had ropes with him. They 
had a nice bit of work laid out, but managed it. By 
the time the Doctor arrived Heath was on the grass 
ready for him. 

Edgecomb made no explanation for his own rent 
condition beyond saying that his hat went overboard 
in the excitement. 

Mrs. Thorne brought out a paper of pins and 
offered to bind up his wounds as best she could. 
Dolly, whose cheeks had lost color for the last five 
minutes, regained her vivacity sufficiently to tell 
him that he had never looked so well in his life. 
The sun had burned his cheeks, the wind had 
roughened his hair, under the big hat his eyes 
glowed intent and soft—perhaps from surprising the 
look in Harriet’s. She knew why he blushed like a 
girl when Dolly said : “ Even now I don’t see how 
Mr. Heath was pulled up again ; but no doubt 
Cook’s conveyance drove right after him. I have 
heard they have coupons for all sorts of extra trips. 
Come on, carriages are ready.” 

“ Mrs. Thorne,” asked Edgecomb, “ may I be the 
fourth in the carriage that has only three besides 


218 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


the driver? I think I will go on to Martigny; 
some of the way I shall walk.” 

Mrs. Thorne readily consented. Edgecomb was 
very complacent when Bertha, Dolly, and Mrs. 
Bushby fell to him as companions. In fact, he was 
pleased, for he began to be concerned to know, for 
Heath’s sake, if this bewitching Dolly was worth 
the trouble she was making his friend. He would 
ask her to walk with him ; perhaps he might under¬ 
stand her if Heath could not. At least he could tell 
if she were silly and shallow; such a wife would be 
the ruin of Heath. Edgecomb had found out that 
day that he cared more than he knew for Heath. 
For a time Dolly talked unmitigated nonsense ; 
then piqued a little when Edgecomb turned to 
Bertha, she was silent; tiring of that she showed 
herself the shrewd, good little American girl she 
certainly was. They jogged along for a few hours, 
then Edgecomb proposed a walk. Mrs. Bushby 
preferred to stay in the carriage, but Bertha and 
Dorothy joined him. Sometimes they kept to¬ 
gether; just as often each was seeking a fern or 
flower or some point of view unsought by the others. 

Once when Dolly was alone with Bertha she 
remarked apropos of nothing whatever : “ I have 
written to that Methodist minister. I did it yester¬ 
day.” 

“Why—why ! ” gasped Bertha. “ Another letter 
in—another handwriting.” 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


2ig 


“ Oh, that is all right. I confessed I made you 
write the first. I told him I found Mont Blanc very 
big and cold and white, but knew it would never do 
to merely say so, and . therefore I urged you to 
emotionate (is there such a word ? There ought to 
be) for me. You see I meant to convince him he 
was mistaken in me. I told him he must answer 
your letter, that really the circumstances required it, 
because you were very intellectual, pious, and full 
to the brim with proper emotion (you are, you 
know) ; so, Bertha, see you keep up the correspond¬ 
ence. Having begun it, as you have , it would be 
rude to drop it.” 

The tone Miss Coxe employed was so calmly 
virtuous that Miss Bilton’s blushing surprise gave 
way to a bewildered impression that she was under 
some sort of obligation to assume Miss Coxe’s “ mis¬ 
fit ” in the shape of a lover. She trotted meekly 
along. Fate took her silence for consent. Far over 
the ocean an equally meek young parson awaited a 
missive from his blue-eyed mistress. All would be 
well in time. Dolly would be the one to decide his 
future, but his wife-to-be would have brown eyes. 

“ See,” exclaimed Dolly, softly, “ what a bunch of 
wild flowers Mr. Edgecomb has ! He is going ahead 
now to ask Mrs. Thorne and Harriet to walk. We 
must get back in the carriage, Billy, we are tired.” 

“ Why, I am not! I could walk every step of the 
way.” 


220 


LOVE AND SNA Wt-STRAPS. 


“ Get right into that carriage. I know when we 
are expected to be tired, if you don’t,” and Dolly 
coolly propelled the reluctant Bertha toward the 
carriage and mounted into it after her. 

Mr. Edgecomb was close by the other carriage— 
doing exactly as Dolly suspected. 

“ Yes, it is a very lovely time now for a walk,” 
said Mrs. Thorne, “ and we are going to have a fine 
sunset.” 

She motioned Harriet to get out first, then spent 
a moment or two in search of a book in which she 
pressed wild flowers. 

Mr. Edgecomb gave her several rare ones he had 
gathered, then, the clasp of her book getting out of 
order, she bade them go on while she fastened it. 
He wondered if she guessed how he wanted that 
sunset hour alone with Harriet, and blessed her, be¬ 
lieving she knew. True, she was never far away, 
while the voices from the carriage came softly back 
to them ; but no perfect solitude could have been 
sweeter. The awful grandeur of the scenery was 
passed now. They were amid more serenely beauti¬ 
ful scenes. Meadows and vineyards were bathed in 
yellow light, birds twittered in old orchards ; afar off 
they saw the brown walls of La Batiaz, and then 
below, the little town. 

There was such tender beauty about the hour that 
even old Mrs. Pollock said to Florida: “Let us get 
out and walk too.” 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


22 i 


“ No we won’t,” returned Florida. “ What is the 
use of walking when we have paid to ride ; besides, 
we are wearing out our shoes fast enough as it is.” 

The old lady assented. It was pleasant enough 
anywhere; then she remarked: “How handsome 
Mr. Edgecomb looks in that queer old hat.” 

“ Oh, he looks well enough ; but he is not half as 
sharp as he thinks he is. He tries to be polite to 
Harriet and Bertha, but any one can see he is dread¬ 
fully smitten with Dolly.” 

“Well, really, she is a pleasant girl, Flori. She 
has hunted my spectacles and done several nice 
little things for me.” 

“ She is well enough,” again said Florida, becom¬ 
ing interested in the approach to Martigny. 

Every one had enjoyed the day, but now that it 
was nearly ended, each was ready for the cosy old 
hotel, with its substantial comforts. 

True to his word, Tom had engaged pleasant 
rooms for them, and appeared as glad to see them 
as if they had been separated for a month. 

Early the next morning our friends started by 
train to Brieg, thence over the Simplon to Domo 
d’Ossola, and so on to the Italian lakes. Before 
starting, the Doctor paid Heath a visit, returning to 
the ladies with Heath’s own message that the lovers 
of art would find him interesting, for he was like 
most of the finest statuary—“ imperfectly restored.” 
The Doctor added that Heath would stay quiet at 


222 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


least a week, while Edgecomb would remain near as 
long as he might need him. For a few days Heath 
suffered a good deal, but bore pain without a com¬ 
plaint, working it off in fun, songs, and excess of 
nonsense. Getting better he became alternately 
melancholy and cross. Edgecomb was unusually pa¬ 
tient with him, knowing that all his discomfort was 
not physical. He tried to interest him in some 
hitherto unthought-of line of travel, but Heath, en¬ 
thusiastic one hour, was unbearably contrary the 
next. Finally forbearance ceased to be a virtue. 
Edgecomb packed his valise and started southward. 
If the season remained cool he proposed to spend 
some time in the north of Italy. The day he left 
Heath the Brewsters came over the Tete Noire, find¬ 
ing Heath able to walk about once more. When he 
bade Edgecomb good-bye he was half persuaded to 
keep with the Brewsters, who after going to Zermatt 
were to go back to Paris. A week later he sent a 
line to Edgecomb from Pisa. He had decided to 
try rushing about in advanced tourist fashion ; was 
going on to Rome, Naples, and if later Vesuvius 
belched up his boots it would be because the mo¬ 
mentum acquired on the way had carried him into 
the crater. It was a brief letter, but long enough to 
show that the writer was getting mentally demoral¬ 
ized. A few weeks earlier, if he had thus written, 
Edgecomb might have sent him in return a dose of 
strong common-sense that would have made him 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


223 


heartily mad, whatever its after-effect might have 
been. Things had gone too far with him now for 
severe measures. Sense minus sympathy would cast 
him into the depths of despondency. In the few 
days they had been together in Martigny Heath had 
scarcely mentioned Dorothy Coxe’s name, but it was 
plainly evident to Edgecomb that he was fully pos¬ 
sessed by a passion of love for the girl as earnest and 
enduring as his nature permitted. He was impetu¬ 
ous and strong-willed, fervid and often contradictory, 
but not weak or vacillating. 

At first Edgecomb was tempted to tell him how 
very pale Dolly grew that day on the Tete Noire, 
when he told of Heath’s accident ; still that was no 
sure sign she cared for him beyond the agitation any 
woman would feel when a life was in peril. He him¬ 
self believed Dolly might be won if the right influ¬ 
ences could be brought to bear on her. Too much 
coaxing was not best ; a rebuff now and then, whole¬ 
some neglect, and even a “ snub ” might be effica¬ 
cious. Heath was not cool enough for such methods. 
Quite too early in the day he had let her ladyship 
see that she was altogether perfect in his eyes. At 
this point Edgecomb fell into a reverie on the char¬ 
acteristics of another maiden. How truthful she was, 
because she was only concerned to know herself 
aright ! There was strong feeling and enthusiasm 
under her calm self-possession, and it was just this 
capacity for passion and generous indignation—this 


0 


224 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

will and strength veiled under a certain sweet auster¬ 
ity that by force of contrast appealed to his imagina¬ 
tion, stirred his affections. She might not show him 
her heart at once, notwithstanding that sincerity, 
but she was infinitely too high-minded to tease, to 
torment, to affect an indifference she did not feel. 
But so was not this Dorothy. Therefore what 
should he write to Heath ; for, queerly enough, nowa¬ 
days he could not, as of old, let Heath’s letters go 
unnoticed. He had far more faith in Harriet than 
Heath could have in Dorothy, but as yet he was not 
sure that his chances of success in winning his own 
sweet-heart were more certain than Heath’s. He re¬ 
solved at last to write to his friend his ideas of the 
theory and practice of love-making as he understood 
it. He went about so doing, saying to himself: “ I 
can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, 
than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teach- 

• y y 

mg. 

Verona, August 5th. 

My Dear Heath : 

There is a Spanish print which represents two men in 
bed ; one is supposed to be a sick man, and the other 
his disease. Beside the bed stands the doctor, blind¬ 
folded, laying about him vigorously with a thick stick. 
Such are we who condole with spirits like yours. Per¬ 
chance I shall hit your illness if I belabor you. The first 
qualification of a lover is faith, the second is more faith, 
the third more faith. His other qualifications are infer- 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


225 


ences from these. Must not the beauty of that in which 
you have faith be perfect to you ? Can you think of per¬ 
fect beauty as other than good ? Then let Miss Dorothy 
seem always beautiful and good to you—and, yes, if you 
love her, you must be willing to give her your life, and if 
you do that, by what right do you rebel if she gives you 
pain ? If she were to ask you, with her blue eyes down¬ 
cast, if you would die for her, how quickly would you 
answer that you would ! Yet, when she seems to ask 
with blue eyes sarcastic if you can bear being tormented 
a little by the person you pretend to love more than any 
one else, you must needs grow bitter and mope ? 

What has become of my merry, heart-whole Heath ? 
Let Miss Dorothy be the centre of your world if you 
like ; yet believe it the part of wisdom to remember there 
are a thousand pursuits and duties, a thousand attrac¬ 
tions and enjoyments elsewhere, and if your mind were 
under its own control, it would know how to move among 
them and make use of them. A love that shuts out all 
other attachments is hurtful. It dispossesses and impov¬ 
erishes you. On the contrary, the infallible test of any 
right feeling is that it leads in one way or other to all 
other feelings that are right. Love is the central power 
that should bring all other powers sooner or later along 
with it. Let Miss Dorothy’s frowns make your heart 
glow, as blows do the iron on an anvil. You should not 
repine. Love not purified by pain is not comparable to 
love that is. And you should so far rejoice in your tribu¬ 
lations as to bear them with patience. The trouble with 
you is that you do not yet love Miss Dorothy perfectly, 

or you would be satisfied to have her what she is. I 
15 


226 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


feel encouraged for you by what has reduced you to 
despair. If she cared nothing for you she would be very 
gentle, as an intimation that she would prefer to be your 
sister. 

The road turns and winds every time a height is to 
be ascended. These sweet troubles are the sign of 
ascent. A woman likes to feel antagonisms toward her 
lover, as a man likes to think contradictions to his be¬ 
loved. He should not try to make her feel—she will feel 
herself. By teasing for emotions, how can you get 
them ? Are they like pennies in a purse ? A woman 
becomes tired of a man who will not give liberty to her 
feelings, just as a man becomes tired of a woman who 
constrains his thoughts too narrowly. If I did not know 
you had a foundation of optimism I should doubt your 
case, but I know that in due time you will come back to 
Miss Dorothy in a mood worthy of receiving smiles in 
place of frowns. The essential of a lasting relation is 
magnanimity, and looking over present disaster to things 
hoped for though unseen. The angry, resentful, and 
sullen only accomplish their own further injury. 

I doubt if a man was ever injured in his courtship by 
the strength of his love and the greatness of his want, 
but always by the slightest distrust or fear—these set him 
back by so far as he yields to them, and he advances by 
so far as he overcomes them. Let me hear good of you 
in Venice. Address poste restante. 


Edgecomb. 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


227 


August 18th. 

Dear Edgecomb : 

I have taken the pledge—not to write you any more 
letters ; but, like most converts from intemperance in 
any form, I proceed to break it just to let you know I 
appreciate your 'last. Only it is no use. You know 
these shrines where the blind and the halt repair, decide 
they are cured, hang up their crutches as proof and take 
themselves off Heaven knows how ! I bet they ache in 
spite of their marvellous cures ! Well, I am cured after 
that fashion. I went in spirit to the shrine of Venus. 
I had been getting about over rough places on crutches 
called false hopes for some time past. I hung them up 
forever to decorate the aforesaid shrine, then I travelled 
off, as gaily as any other poor wretch ever went. We 
will say that ends the fret and ^ever. Edgecomb, you 
don’t know how to travel, poking about like a snail. 
The tourist parties are the ones with the real go in them. 
I have been travelling in competition with one since I 
left Milan ; a run-away engine is nothing to it. Let me 
think—four days ago I had not seen Rome, but got there 
one night. Next morning “ Party ” was at breakfast. 
“ Head ” said it was to be rather an off-day with them, 
some “ members ” feeling tired. I asked permission to 
join them, so we sauntered out to S. Pietro and the Vati- 
cano and Castello S. Angelo, and the Colosseum and the 
Arco di Settimo Severo and Arco di Constantino, the Foro 
Romano, and half a dozen other places before we had 
an interval for luncheon. Really the most magnificent 
kaleidoscopic exercise of mind and body I ever “assisted 
at,” as the French say. After lunch, while digestion was 


228 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


going on, we went on, too, could not be left behind any¬ 
way. We took a few palaces, if I remember aright, the 
Barberini, Borghese, Colonna, Sciarra, Doria, Farnese, 
Rospigliosi, and by that time of day the Chieses were 
open (though I believe the plural of Italian churches 
does not end with u s.” We learn much Italian as we 
go). We drove—I forgot to say that we drive through, 
past, over, and around all the aforesaid objects—we 
drove to S. Maria del Popolo, S. M. (read Santa Maria 
every time) degli Angeli, S. M. dell' Anima, S. M. in Ara- 
celi, S. M. della Concezione, S. M. sopra Minerva, S. M. 
della Pace, S. M. in Trastevere, and a lot of masculine 
sanctuaries to even up things, Saint Peters and Pauls 
and Pantoleos ; then we had an interval for dinner. The 
second day we settled down to steady work, and in the 
evening I went about looking at the fountains. I did 
not drop a penny in the fountain of Trevi to insure my 
coming again to Rome. What is the use of being pig¬ 
gish ? Besides what will be left for me to see ? If now 
one ha l a bright, interested companion with whom to go 
about in this glorious moonlight. Confound it ! How 
I forget my crutches hung up in the shrine, but I know 
those miraculously cured wretches did feel twinges of 
pain afterwards. 

At the end of the third day the “ Head ” said we had 
done Rome and done it thoroughly, so we came on to 
Naples by night, and (interval for breakfast) started out 
bright and early to see Naples. I think another party 
must have preceded us, for a more weary lot of cab 
horses I never saw than those about the streets. How¬ 
ever, as soon as one dropped dead we sprang into another 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


229 


cab, and by noon, having seen Naples, were ready for 
Pompeii. What singular ideas of upholstery and tapes¬ 
try these Italians have ! All the way to Pompeii they 
had hung out on their clothes-lines and spread on the 
ground curtains and carpets of macaroni. You have 
been to Pompeii. To-morrow we take a run up to Vesu¬ 
vius. It is rather active. I have been sitting by the bay 
out at the Posilipo to-night watching the eruptions. After 
dark it seemed as if a red toy-balloon issued from the 
mountain top, slowly inflated (though always a toy at this 
distance), then was drawn down again. Every third or 
fourth time it more resembled a big red tomato bursting 
violently from some internal force. This is realistic, not 
poetic, but I am developing the practical part of my nature 
nowadays, I have been too romantic in the past. It is 
all nonsense about Italy being too hot for tourists. I 
walk evenings when it gets cool, sit around in ruins, do 
all the imprudent things one is warned not to do, and 
—what on earth shall I do next ? It is not the time for 
Egypt, or I would hunt up another “ Party.” Edgecomb, 
if I should fall into Vesuvius or—you have my mother’s 
address. What are you doing ? Sometimes I think I 
might better go home, hang out my sign, and go to prac¬ 
tising law if I am ever going to do it. How long shall 
you stay on this side ? Yours, 

Heath. 

Venice, August 21st. 

My Dear Heath : 

If you went in spirit to the shrine of Venus you should 
have behaved like Sir Scudamore in the Feerie Queene, 
when he carried off Amoret from that shrine. He pre- 


230 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


served bis calm because he needed it. He did not rush 
out of the temple and consort with any excursion 
parties when Amoret hung back. It is not enough to say 
to Miss Dorothy that you love her ; you must show it 
with patience and long-suffering, and let her feel it. 
First find some peace in loving, without too much regard 
to the instant return of your love, and in that peace be 
reasonably hopeful. Miss Dorothy may love you on 
short acquaintance, as you do her; but she will not con¬ 
fess it as you would have her, but only under one of two 
conditions—either you must await her good pleasure, 
enduring long months of torment, to have your truth and 
steadfast qualities tested, or something must happen to 
sweep away all lesser feelings and shock love into full 
possession of her. You know that this is true. You 
would not have her different. 

When you finish your gyrations about Italy, come 
to Venice and wait here under my wing until Mrs. 
Thorne’s party arrives. You are desperate in folly. How 
will it advance your prospects to get an Italian fever ? 
Perhaps, but, well, who can tell how another’s fate- 
thread is spun? I grow uneasy about you, and feel that 
you would be better in every way here with me. Poor 
boy ! I have a most sensible fellow-feeling with you in 
every one of your troubled thoughts, though you would 
not suspect it of me. . . . Yours, 

Edgecomb. 


“Yes, Katherine mine,” said Tom, in a tone of 
affectionate complacency (his post-prandial tone). “ I 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


231 


think this place answers all requirements of an earthly 
paradise.” 

“ Is it not beautiful ! ” returned Kate. They were 
sitting together on the piazza of the Grand Hotel at 
Pallanza. It was early evening after a gorgeous 
sunset that had left its glow over all the sky. A 
waning moon was mirrored in Lake Maggiore, and 
between the piazza and the lake was only a garden 
of chestnut, fig, olive, and orange trees. Plainly visi¬ 
ble in the far north were the peaks of the Simplon. 

“ There is a resident clergyman in the house,” 
said Tom, “ a clever little man, he showed me all 
about before dinner, played the organ in the chapel 
for me and allowed me to contribute to his pet 
missionary project.” 

“ I wish they needed a resident physician,” said 
Kate, “ then you and I would forsake our native 
land.” 

“ Not for many months, if there were no Brown¬ 
ing Clubs, afternoon teas, and coffee-house temper¬ 
ance jinks for you.” 

“ How the time goes; our trip will be over soon 
now.” 

“ Kate you are inconsistent.” 

“ In what way ? ” 

Tom puffed out a volume of smoke before he 
drawlingly replied. “ I made you out a list of 
people available for this tour ; you would none of 
them. Has (Tom looked over his shoulder before 


232 LOVE AND SHA IVL-STRAPS. 

he murmured Florida’s name)—proved to be all 
your fancy painted her ? ” 

“ I am glad you asked me that, for I knew you had 
been thinking I had made a mistake, but I have not. 
You do not know her yet. I took her for her own 
sake; she never has had a chance to grow broad and 
sweet. I knew her in school, she is as old as I am ; 
her father was a miser, her mother a shrew. She 
married a little Miss Nancy of a man. She did not 
think he knew enough to be wicked, but he learned 
how and mortified her bitterly before he went under¬ 
ground. She is not really miserly or ill-natured, she 
only talks sometimes the language of the people who 
have been always next to her. You, again, note 
her mistakes, for she is not well educated. What 
you have not seen is abundantly existent in her: 
sound judgment, real principle, a hunger to be more 
to herself and to others. She is growing. She has 
stopped pretending to like everything labelled with a 
first prize, and is finding out beauty that is beautiful 
to her. She envied the girls at first—Harriet for her 
college education, Dolly for her youth. Lately she 
realizes (for she said so to me) that each girl is most 
admirable for her genuineness. Mrs. Pollock will go 
home more sincere, with thoughts of her own. I 
believed these months would help her, and I am 
glad she came with us.” 

“ I never really disliked her. She says many 
shrewd things.” 


UNDER MONT BLANC . 


^33 


At that moment Miss Coxe appeared, coming 
through the long window from the reading-room. 
She too was enthusiastic in her liking for Pallanza. 

“ It is so unlike any place we have been in yet, 
and there are charming people here. We were all 
going for a row on the lake after dinner, but we 
stopped in the drawing-room and have been there 
ever since. There is an American lady, with three 
daughters, nice girls; an English father, mother, and 
two boys. We have had great fun with these young 
fellows—one is fifteen, one seventeen. They say 
American girls ‘ are no end jolly, don’t you know ?’ 
I said ‘ Su-ah-ly and English lads ar’ n’t haaf baad.’ ” 

“ They are well-bred young fellows. I noticed 
them at dinner,” said Kate. 

“Yes, and the English clergyman’s wife is a dear 
little lady, like Miss Molly in Mrs. Gaskill’s Cran¬ 
ford. Oh, I came out here to ask you if there were 
not exceptions to your rules, Mrs. Thorne? You 
told us once that we would never think of dancing 
with strangers evenings in foreign hotel parlors, as 
the manner of some fast American girls is. We 
never would want to do it under ordinary circum¬ 
stances, but they are beginning to dance in there. It 
is great fun The clergyman is dancing with the 
youngest American girl. The English boys with the 
clergyman’s wife and the girls’ mother; the other 
partners are all ladies. Can’t we join that giddy 
throng ? ” 


234 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“You may, dear,” laughed Kate. 

“ Then I will lead old Mrs. Pollock out. She 
looks longingly at the floor. Oh, no, Doctor Bruce, 
you come ! ” 

“ I dance ! Why, daughter, I don’t know a horn¬ 
pipe from a clog-dance, or what the illiterate lady 
called an ‘ old-fashioned minaret.’ ” 

“ He shall help you, Dolly,” said Kate, leading 
the way to the long parlor, where the little band of 
English-speaking people were visiting together as if 
it were a reunited family party. “The lady out of 
the book,” as Dolly called the wife of the parson, 
was vainly trying to play a tune to which they could 
dance. Kate took her place, and for the next half 
hour all was fun and laughter. 

During a pause in the merriment, consequent on 
Doctor Tom’s having cut a caper unknown to any 
of the younger dancers, a new-comer appeared—Mr. 
Hudson. 

He shook everybody’s hand with great cordiality, 
at least that of every one he had ever met before. 
Dolly Coxe at once asked him to dance with her. 
He could not undertake such a limbering-up process 
of his heavy legs on so short notice, but he was 
happy only to sit where he could watch the gyrations 
of his country people. 

When all were weary of exercise the young people 
wandered out in the grounds. Dolly Coxe had pri¬ 
vately whispered to the Doctor, who had consented 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


235 


to hunt up a man to row Harriet, Bertha, herself, 
and Doctor Bruce out on the lake in the moonlight. 
Kate disappeared. Mr. Hudson looked about, and, 
espying Mrs. Florida, said cheerfully : “ Your hus¬ 
band did not come across with you ? ” 

Mrs. Pollock, in a semi-pensive tone, gave him to 
understand that her spouse’s days of travel were 
over, at least in this sublunar sphere. 

“ Indeed ! What a lonesome feeling it is roaming 
around foreign parts alone, aint it?” he exclaimed, 
in a cheerful yet not unfeeling tone. But then you 
aint alone ; husband taken away some time since? ” 

“ Six years ago.” 

“ Yours dead, too, madam ? ” 

Mrs. Bushby was startled. She was about to go 
out on the piazza, but waited to reply : “ The Gen¬ 
eral has been dead ten years.” 

“ My loss is more recent. Wife Alvira was an 
excellent woman. I do not think, however, she 
would have enjoyed Europe; the cooking would 
have been very trying to her. Did you ever see such 
horrible rolls as those at Domo d’Ossola? They 
broke the filling out of two of my teeth. Shall we 
walk out in the moonlight ? ” 

They sauntered across the piazza, down among 
the flowers, and on toward the water. 

“You have been to Rome, have you not ? ” asked 
Florida. 

“ Yes; it is changing fast. There are streets 


236 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


there that would do credit to an American city, and 
the Quirinal Hotel is prime. I never had a classical 
education, so I did not go into the antiquities much. 
Genoa .is the city for me. I never appreciated 
sculpture until I saw it there in the Campo Santo. 
It beats the antique all hollow—the kind you see 
there ; pure white marble, no legs and arms missing, 
and talk about finish ! Why, there is one group 
there, a family gathered about a dying man,—you 
never imagined anything so worked out, every but¬ 
ton on the men’s coats, the ladies’ back hair, even 
the hem on the sheet under the dying father’s chin. 
I could stand before a thing like that, and seem to 
take it in.” 

“ Did you see any work of Michael Angelo ? ” 
asked Florida. 

“ Not there. I saw his Moses. He hewed him 
out as big as Goliath, and gave him horns like an 
ox; yet, I believe, in his day Michael Angelo had 
quite a reputation.” 

“Are you going back to Italy now? ” asked Mrs. 
Bushby. 

“ I guess I will run down to Venice. You see, I 
went to Turin by the Mont Cenis Tunnel, down by 
Genoa and Pisa to Rome, then to Milan and up to 
Switzerland before, leaving out Venice.” 

From this point Mr. Hudson, who had no desire 
to talk wholly of himself, drew out by a series of 
direct questions a great deal of information in regard 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


237 


to the life and affairs of his companions. His interest 
in his fellow-creatures surpassed any felt in art, his¬ 
tory, or travel. 

They reached the little pier just as the Doctor and 
the girls were being rowed away by a stout oarsman. 

“ Oh, how lovely ! ” cried Florida. 

“ Will you ladies go if I can find another man ? ” 
asked their escort, and while they were assenting 
the man appeared. The boat was at hand already. 

Mrs. Pollock, Senior, went to bed. Mrs. Thorne 
sat with the English clergyman on the piazza, talking 
of Ruskin, while for more than an hour her widows 
and maidens floated over the moonlit waters. Tom 
grew so sentimental that Bertha never afterwards 
could be persuaded that his was not the fate of one 
who had loved and lost in days gone by. Mr. Hud¬ 
son gave particulars of an attack of rheumatism that 
he once experienced, with details as to how it dif¬ 
fered from another attack suffered by Mrs. Hudson 
now no more. He asked each widow present in the 
boat to what church she belonged, and if she played 
the piano and was fond of housekeeping. By and 
by both boats came to shore, and their occupants 
returned to the piazza, where Mr. Hudson sum¬ 
moned a waiter and ordered lemon ices, cake, and 
fruit for everybody there assembled. 

“ Pie can’t be stingy,” whispered Florida to Mrs. 
Bushby, “ for he must know it would count up to 
three or four francs each,” 


238 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


The waiter who returned with the feast, after 
arranging it on two small iron tables, looked about 
until he saw Harriet leaning over the piazza rail to 
gather a rose. He plucked her two that were out of 
her reach and then respectfully gave her a letter. 
She dropped it into her pocket, not caring to explain 
that the American mail had not arrived. 

When the banquet ended she slipped away to her 
room. Its great window opened to the northwest, 
framing a picture of ice mountains, dark islands, 
and the lake. She did not as usual stand by the 
casement, but making a light opened her letter, post¬ 
marked “ Venezia.” She held it unread a moment, 
then drawing another from her pocket, re-read that 
first, as if to see if both were in the same musical 
key. The first ran thus : 

It is not often you gratify me with a letter. The one 
I received to-day was not meant to be an encouraging 
one, and I suppose I ought to be subdued by it. But it 
does not seem to me that the life of a despondent lover 
is an attractive or desirable one. Venice and thoughts 
that you are coming to Venice are too satisfactory for 
me to feel anything but gladness. Do not expect me to 
listen to “ must nots ” and “cannots,” when you do not 
add to them the words, “ because I do not love you.” 
You must kill hope at the root. 

Last winter your conscience was all aroused by the 
intuitive discovery (for I did not say it) that I loved you, 
and you put an end to all our pleasant times together. 


UNDER MONT BLANC. 


239 


letting me surmise what reason I could, which was far 
from the right one. The pain of those days was great, 
but I thank you for the lessons I learned in them. It was 
like coming out of a black cloud, that April day, when 
we went with the sugar party to the maple woods and 
were left by our companions to set the table in the cabin 
while they hunted for arbutus buds. When our work was 
done and we sat before the door, somehow I felt I was 
forgiven by that discouraged gesture of your pretty hands, 
both raised to smoothe your hair and then dropped into 
your lap. After that day you ceased to think about be¬ 
ing loved, as children cease to think about the sun in 
their interest in what it shines upon ; and so I won—you 
would have me think a friend, and I would think, my 
beautiful wife. Sweet, why do you resist now when all 
your heart consents ? 

J. E. E. 

“ Surely, this is a man not easily discouraged,” re¬ 
flected the fair reader, and then knew in her soul that 
she had lost earnestness in her efforts to that end— 
knew that if this last letter should not prove like 
unto the other she would be sorry. 

Dearest, love in the abstract is just the simple state of 
mind which results from the infinite possession of pure 
happiness, and love in this world is happy in degree. 

Venice—when you come—is to cease being the Venice 
of history and become my Venice. Because here you 
are to give me that simple state of mind in which all is 
to be mine, whether life or death, or things present or 


240 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


things to come—all are to be mine, because you are to 
be mine. That is what your delicious hesitation on the 
Tete Noire meant that ended in a smile when I examined 
your palm and made such bold prophecies of your future 
as my gypsy costume of rags justified. And you so far 
relented as to consent to some of the gypsy stories with 
your eyes. I want it in words that I may have you. I 
do not think a woman ever had so sweet a voice as yours 
with which to promise. 

I have been learning the art of the gondoliers and the 
meaning of their whistles, cries and signs, and can now 
send my black boat through the narrow canals without 
danger of collision with my picturesque brothers. Yes¬ 
terday I devoted the afternoon to my new vocation. The 
day was perfect, cloudless, yet cool, with a slight breeze. 
I propelled my craft past the last piles and out upon the 
calm Adriatic, till Venice became hazy and mystic in the 
distance—a fairy city ; and then I stood swaying slowly 
with the oar and watched the green dimples on the face 
of the deep, and the curling flight of three white sea-gulls 
that came from IVeissnichtwo and stayed in Weissnichtwo 
and went ich weiss nicht wo , and then I sat down and 
dreamed of you till my head seemed to be on your breast, 
and the breeze became your hand on my cheek, and the 
waves moments, and the sea time, and the sky eternity. 

Heath says I have too much money for a minister. 
Perhaps he is right, but not too much for a minister and 
you. You shall leave blessings wherever we go. Half 
my happiness will be in having you, and half in having, 
seeing, feeling good you do. You remember last winter 
in your little New England village when we were reading 



UNDER MONT TLANC. 


24I 


Kalidasa’s dramas and studying the Hindoo gods, you 
wished for a library there because I bad to go so often 
to Boston for books. You shall build one and I will 
stock it with them, so that your culture club can develop 
citizens equal to those of Concord. 

You are not going home with Mrs. Thorne. You are 
going with me to India to study the gods in their own 
rock temples and pagodas, and then to live a quaint, 
porcelain-vase life with me in our own Japanese villa, 
and finally when we come home through the Golden Gate 
you are to confess that you are happier with me than you 
were with Mrs. Thorne when you watched the Nevesink 
Highlands drop below the horizon. 


CHAPTER EIGHTH. 


LOVE. 


H EATH’S account of himself, though over¬ 
drawn, was in the main true. Whenever 
he took life slowly in those days he 
found himself dull and despondent, a frame of 
mind he was unused to cherishing. It seemed to 
him both wise and philosophical to proceed now 
as if he had no heart to ache and no head 
or heels to give out. He joined every available 
party going to ancient villas, extinct volcanoes, in¬ 
terminable galleries, palaces, or catacombs. In 
Florence he found intensely hot weather, but assured 
the Florentines that a New Yorker would get pneu¬ 
monia in such a climate ; no shaded side of the road 
for him ! He tramped to Fiesole, searched out 
everything Etruscan, as if archaeology were the one 
passion of his soul. He conscientiously considered 
every room of the Uffizi and Pitti galleries, and 
started on a thorough-going exploration of the 
churches. One noontime, standing guide-book in 
hand before some uncommonly horrible and archaic 


242 


LOVE. 


243 


frescos, he suddenly anathematized all art as a 
“ beastly bore,” crammed his book into his pocket, 
and started on the next train for Venice. It was a 
slow train, the slowest he had ever known in his life. 
He grew overpoweringly weary of the scenery, of the 
huge stations, of the heat and sunshine outside, of a 
fat mustached signora opposite. She was old, u g } y> 
and heavily perfumed. She left him at Bologna, 
where he got out to stand on the platform, eager for 
cool air and forgetful of his supper. Starting on 
again he dozed away the time until after dark, 
awakening with the startled notion that he could 
not remember to what city he was going, so perhaps 
he had been taken past it. He drowsily reflected 
that he had not decided to what hotel he should go 
in—in Rome—Milan, was it?—no, Venice. Well, 
the porter would see to that. He was in Venice at 
last and out in the evening light, more bewildered 
at the reality than by his late dreams. The 
water looked like molten iron. The black craft 
moored all about, the moving mass of boatmen, 
porters, and nondescript people, with the cries of the 
gondoliers, gave him a nightmare sensation not les¬ 
sened by the pain in his head. He stood stupidly 
waiting for some one who would do something. This 
individual materialized in the shape of a big porter 
talking English with a strong German accent; taking 
Heath’s silence for consent to his proposal of a hotel, 
he ventured to reach out for his luggage ticket. 


244 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


Heath yielded it, followed his guide, and a moment 
or two later they were afloat for a hotel he would 
never have thought of choosing had he given the 
matter any thought at all. However, it was a good 
house under German management, and just off the 
Grand Canal. As they rowed past the painted posts, 
like barbers’ poles, the fancy took Heath that he was 
a tobacconist’s wooden Indian out for some purpose 
unknown, and he showed little more intelligence 
than such an image would have evinced when the 
blue and gold porter turned him loose in the big 
entrance hall. However, the routine of continental 
hotels renders intelligence of little account in the 
tourist, a yielding disposition is better for all con¬ 
cerned. Heath found his supper, his room, his bed, 
all in due order. 

Sound sleep he did not find. There was music in 
the air, gondoliers made it and their songs tangled 
his dreams. There were also gnats in the air and 
they bit him. At daylight he arose to look out of 
his window. Opposite was an open casement show¬ 
ing a neighboring kitchen with copper saucepans all 
over the walls. Between him and this kitchen was 
a green ditch bearing on its unruffled surface a few 
cabbage leaves and considerable orange peel. 

“ As a part of my ideal Venice—as stuff for dreams 
and romance, I have no use for you,” commented 
our hero ; “ I might put you to a more practical pur¬ 
pose, I might join myself to the floating cabbage 


LOVE . 245 

leaves. No, it is dryer to go back to bed if only I 
could sleep off this headache.” 

At breakfast the coffee was real, German-made 
coffee, and not chicory broth. In the strength of it 
Heath went out to spend an hour in a gondola, then 
ordered the man to row him to Cook’s office, where 
he had ordered any letters sent. He found a little 
budget awaiting him, chatted a while with the pleas¬ 
ant agent, finally asked if he knew of any Americans 
arrived lately in Venice by name Edgecomb, Bruce, 
or Thorne. 

“No such people are registered here,” said the 
agent, turning over the leaves of a book near him, 
“ but they would not be unless their letters were 
coming here. Look over the lists of hotel arrivals.” 

Heath looked over a number of papers, asked a 
few questions about Venice, bought a map of the 
city and went out requesting his mail sent for a week 
to his hotel. He assured himself that Edgecomb 
had left Venice and the others had not arrived. He 
was mistaken; they had been several days in 
Venice. 

Mrs. Thorne, who once (and it was the first time) 
entered Venice in the glare of midday, planned to 
save others from the disappointment she suffered. 
The glory of a summer sunset was flooding earth 
and sky as they steamed past the green fields and 
prosperous farms of North Italy. The golden light 
was tinged with pink, when the train seemed to 


246 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 

plunge into the water and make a track for itself 
across the lagoons. 

“Oh, I see Venice!’' cried Dolly, “and pretty 
soon, as the travelled dressmaker said, ‘ we shall enter 
a dongola and be rowed over the galoons.’ ” 

Yes, very soon the prosaic became the picturesque. 
They had not to make their way to any huge hotel 
omnibus. Everything was different from any other 
station — except the benign hotel-porter awaiting 
them. He is the same everywhere, ready to talk 
any language, even Volapuk; able to tell anything 
any human being wants to know of art, history, 
politics, manners, customs ; or where to buy pins, 
veils, and shoestrings. He led them past the gon¬ 
dolas lining the water’s edge, and from each black 
craft the gondolier waved them an invitation. By 
each knelt a ragged boy or grizzly old man clawing 
the boat to the platform with an iron hook. The 
porter halted by one who might have posed as a 
model for a Charon by the Styx. Everybody stepped 
gingerly into the gondola, half expecting it to upset 
under them. Nothing of the sort happened, and 
when two boats were filled with them and their 
luggage they started. Kate pitied them, for even 
though the light was lovely on the water she saw 
soon the shade that fell over the girls’ faces at sight 
of the first colored palaces that came in sight. They 
were expecting fair Desdemonas to lean from ex¬ 
quisite balconies; they saw walls like faded patch- 


LOVE. 


247 


work, cave-like entrances, in which every now and 
then loitered fat matrons, who, tying ropes about the 
bodies of their small progeny, were calmly dropping 
them over the threshold to soak or swim in the canals 
as the case might be. But after a while the new¬ 
comers heard for the first time in Venice a familiar 
name, the Rialto, or the Bridge of Sighs—and their 
faces brightened. Then the hotel—of course, there 
was a “ Grand ” and also a “ Royal ” in its title, for 
it was a hotel with a pedigree, so to speak, as it was 
literally its own grandfather. It was the home of 
the Doge Enrico Dandolo, who conquered Constan¬ 
tinople in 1204; but no doubt the family mansion 
has suffered many alterations since the morning when 
Enrico sailed away to return a mummy and the night 
that Mrs. Thorne’s Americans took possession. In 
fact, that truthful lady assured them that perhaps 
only the walls remained, but they preferred to think 
differently. 

All of them wrote home describing the elegantly 
carved oaken sideboards, the tall-backed chairs, the 
treasure chests and cabinets of choice china, the 
marble floors and frescoed ceilings. They were get¬ 
ting enthusiastic about Venice before dinner was 
over. Florida mentally composed a “talk” before 
her “ literary club ” while she ate her dinner. She 
dwelt in detail on the splendor of this salle a manger 
where Enrico gazed, as he feasted, on the wall pic¬ 
tures of Dante, Tasso, and Petrarch. Chronology 


248 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

was of small account to Florida, and here were the 
pictures before her very eyes. 

After dinner Mrs. Thorne said : “ Go get on your 
wraps and we will see Venice in twilight; so far you 
have only gotten rid of a few illusions. Any new 
ones you have hereafter will be twice as beautiful 
and warranted not to fade.” 

They went to their rooms, soon to return to the 
hall, where Doctor Tom, through the porter, was 
calling gondoliers. Mr. Edgecomb stood with them 
greeting each lady as she came downstairs. At 
least he spoke to all but Harriet, whom he did not 
seem to see until he took her hand to help her into 
a boat, stepping in next, having sent ahead the two 
Pollocks. Surely two chaperons were enough. He 
could furnish employment for their eyes and ears, 
could show them the beauties of the Grand Canal— 
and not neglect Harriet. 

It was Venice, and it was summer. The initiated 
can fancy all the rest. When, one by one, the 
gondoliers swept slowly out into the broad expanse 
of shimmering water, each person realized the full 
verification of all the poets had written or painters 
pictured. Every token of dirt and decay was 
effaced, nothing apparent but the shadowy whiteness 
of fairy-like facades and the grace of marvellous por¬ 
ticos. Every now and then a gondola gay with 
colored lanterns would glide along by others, and 
suddenly the air would be full of music from rich 


LOVE . 


249 


voices and stringed instruments—one of the Venetian 
bands afloat every night to charm foreigners, and to 
lure away their willingly bestowed coin. 

Yes, before ten o’clock Mrs. Thorne’s young peo¬ 
ple were quite Venice-smitten, were even charmed 
with the narrower streets, where the black water 
splashed against the mossy old walls as one black 
boat moved after another with the statuesque gon¬ 
dolier swaying in the glare of his red lamp, crying 
shrilly in the Rembrandtish gloom : “Stall ” (I come, 
—to the right), “ Preme ” (to the left), “Sciar ” (stop). 

Mr. Edgecomb imparted a very large amount of 
interesting information to Mrs. Pollock, Senior, and 
her daughter-in-law ; occasionally he added supple¬ 
mentary remarks that did not reach them. In ex¬ 
plaining, for instance, these cries of the gondoliers 
he quoted from Monckton Milnes now and then a 
line: 

“ For the young and the loving no sorrow endures, 

If to-day be another’s, to-morrow is yours ; 

May the next time you listen your fancy be true, 

I am coming— Sciar —and for you, and to you ! 
Sciar —and to you.” 

It did not seem as if they had been out more than 
an hour before they heard Doctor Bruce bellowing 
like a bull of Bashan, from the boat ahead, that Mrs. 
Thorne said it was time to go home. Hotelward 
they went, therefore, but not immediately to bed. 


250 


LOVE AND SEA WL-STEAPS. 


There were bewitching little porticos out from the 
girls’ windows where it is to be feared they lingered 
late, watching the lights flashing below, hearing the 
boat-songs, exchanging those endless confidences in 
which girls can indulge without confiding very much 
after all. 

It was just after lunch at the Royal Danieli, and 
the ladies were together in the reading-room. Some 
were studying the English papers. The younger 
ones were at the windows, which in that part of the 
hotel were on a level with the Riva. They liked to 
watch the throng of passers-by, for the most of them 
were Venetians. Mrs. Thorne was surprised at the 
prolonged absence of the Doctor. He often left 
them for hours to their own devices, but at lunch 
and dinner was sure to appear. She had just made 
a statement to this effect when he entered the door. 
He looked warm or tired, and took no notice of a 
jesting speech from Dolly Coxe. 

“ Have you had your lunch, Tom ? ” 

“Yes—no, not yet. Was Edgecomb in just 

yy 

now r 

“ No, we have not seen him to-day. Why ? ” 

“ I thought he might have told you—Heath is here 
and very ill,” replied the Doctor. 

“Here—where? In this hotel?” asked Mrs. 
Thorne. 

“ No, but not far away, at a Hotel d’ltalie,” said the 
Doctor, adding: “ When I went out this morning 


LOVE . 


251 


I met Edgecomb and asked him to go over Salviati’s 
glass manufactory with me. We bought a trifle or 
two and I found my pocket-book empty, so coming 
out I told the gondolier to row me to Cook’s where 
I could draw money. There was a bank nearer, but 
it was well I did not know it, for when the agent 
saw my name on my letter of credit, he said : ‘ I 
think you are a man I want. Have you a friend 
named Heath ? ’ Edgecomb answered before I could 
speak; then he said the porter of that hotel (who 
knew Heath's mail was sent from Cook’s) had been 
in the night before to ask if Heath had friends in 
Venice, and to say he was ill and delirious. The 
agent remembered that Heath had asked in the 
office about a Doctor Bruce but he had no idea 
where to find me—the hotel lists giving me the 
elegant title of Doctor Bones. Edgecomb and I got 
ourselves as fast as possible to the hotel. I found 
Heath pretty badly off; Edgecomb says he has been 
very imprudent lately. It looks a little like typhoid 
fever, but I hope I can break it up. He was in a 
dingy room with only one window, in the rear of 
the hotel. We had him moved to a big, airy one 
in the part of the house that faces on the Grand 
Canal. They had been attentive to him but did not 
realize his condition until yesterday. He had not 
been really irrational until then, though the waiters 
all thought him queer. Edgecomb says he shall 
take a room close by him, and do his best with me 


2 J2 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


to take charge of the case. I wish we could find a 
capable woman-nurse. He can’t be properly cared 
for without.” 

“ Oh, Tom, I ought to go to him, poor fellow, all 
alone ! ” cried Kate. 

“ We could take turns,” said Mrs. Bushby, “ though 
a bigger fool than I am inside a sick-room never was 
known.” 

Florida Pollock rose up and dropped the last num¬ 
ber of a London fashion paper. Her voice took on 
an insistent tone, which together with her first words 
made Dorothy Coxe, for the second, hate her. 

“ No, Mrs. Thorne must not go ! She owes a duty 
to her party, a first duty, and Mrs. Bushby would 
drive him mad, she fusses so when she gets worried. 
I shall go myself. 

Everybody looked at her in amazement. 

“ What ails you all ? Ask mother if I know what 
I am about. I am old enough and a widow, so there 
is no impropriety ; somebody must look after mother 
while I do it.” 

“ I will,” exclaimed Dolly Coxe, in a voice that 
only Tom who stood near heard. She did not see 
the glance he gave her. There were tears in her own 
eyes and her lip was trembling. She saw nobody 
but Mrs. Florida. 

“ Flori is a grand nurse,” said the old lady ; “ our 
old doctor at home said it was a gift and she had 
it—that nurses, like poets, were born, not made.” 


LOVE. 


253 


“ Never mind what anybody said or says, I am 
going to take care of that fellow in his fever,” coolly 
remarked her daughter-in-law, turning to question 
the Doctor. 

He had not thought of Florida in the light of a 
ministering angel ; but after a little talk with her he 
went to the dining-room for his lunch while she re¬ 
tired to her room for brief preparations. A half 
hour later he returned with her to Heath’s room. 
It was agreed that Florida should be the one on whom 
next to the Doctor should rest all responsibility, 
but Mrs. Thorne, Mrs. Bushby, and Edgecomb 
were to take turns as night watchers, that Mrs. Pol¬ 
lock should not get over-tired. Before twelve hours 
had passed every one of them forgave Florida all 
her little failings. She indulged in no nonsense, but 
she knew exactly what to do and she did it. The 
Doctor was vehement in her praises to Kate, who 
each time replied, “ I told you that you did not do 
her justice.” 

And now began a fight for life with the odds in 
favor of Death. It was not really typhoid fever, it 
• certainly was not as every one at once pronounced 
it “ Roman fever.” Doctor Bruce did not trouble 
himself to give it a name ; for at least a week he 
was too busy with successive puzzling and always 
alarming changes. 

The days were long for the younger members of 
Mrs. Thorne’s band. They spent much of the time 


254 


love and shawl-steads. 


on the water. No one was in any mood for sight¬ 
seeing, so the elder Mrs. Pollock, Harriet, Dorothy, 
and Bertha found nothing more quietly diverting 
than to take a gondola, letting the men lazily move 
in and out between the ancient houses, down nar¬ 
rowest side canals, watching the life on either hand. 
None of them talked much. Bertha perhaps was the 
one most keenly conscious of her surroundings. Oc¬ 
casionally she would tell them stories of old Venice. 
Bertha was as full of available lore as any old-time 
chronicle ; true, she learned it as she went, but she 
made it her own. Sometimes Edgecomb joined them 
when it may be they went to the Academia. There 
Dorothy led Mrs. Pollock about, telling the old lady 
stories, showing her the pictures most likely to im¬ 
press her, whil j even Bertha had tact enough to pursue 
her artistic researches alone. In this way it came to 
pass that Harriet and Edgecomb sauntered through 
the soft sunlit rooms, loitering before Bellini, Car¬ 
paccio, Titian, or Tintoretto, not oblivious to the 
beauty all about them—nay, exquisitely conscious 
of it as a background for another beauty—other 
sunshine, not of art or nature. 

Dorothy Coxe faithfully redeemed her promise to 
Florida. She never let pass unimproved a chance to 
help or to interest the old lady. Indeed, she found 
her exactly the companion most desired in these 
days. The dimmer eyes of Mrs. Pollock rested with 
almost childish interest on each new object. They 


LOVE. 


255 




did not see the trouble—the terror that filled the 
girl’s blue eyes when they were alone together. 
Dolly was so kind to her she did not miss the usual 
gay chatter, the merry jests and laughter—did not 
once see the grey shadow fall over the sweet young 
face, as Dolly’s glance fell on Edgecomb and Harriet 
far down some corridor. 

One afternoon Mrs. Florida trusted Mrs. Thorne 
with her patient, and came out for a change. She 
had not seen the pictures of the Academia, so she 
decided to take one of the little steamboats and go 
to the gallery alone, rather than to waste time find¬ 
ing companions. Florida had traversed enough 
places of that kind to detect by certain infallible 
signs what were the “ show sights,” even if she had 
no guide-book with her. This day she made 
straight for the cushioned divan before Titian’s As¬ 
sumption of the Virgin. 

There was a catalogue posted on a big card-board 
near by, which she faithfully studied before giving 
herself up to enjoyment of the great painting. She 
liked it; the light, the vivid coloring, the sense 
of joyous motion impressed her. 

Suddenly the cushion went down as if depressed 
by the weight of a heavy body, and “ Good-after¬ 
noon, Mrs. Pollard,” sounded in IHorida’s ears. 

“Why, Mr. Hudson! You here?” 

“ Got here yesterday. Queer old place, aint it ? 
Dirty by day, but lights up well.” 


256 


LOVE AND SHAIVL-STRAPS. 


“We are all delighted with Venice,” replied Mrs. 
Pollock, neglecting Titian while she regarded Mr. 
Hudson. He took off his soft hat, polished his fore¬ 
head and the bald spot beyond, sank comfortably 
back in his seat, drew out his spectacles and a copy 
of the New York Herald. It was evident that after 
he had discoursed with Florida, he meant to have a 
season of physical and mental relaxation. 

“Yes, came last night; have been sozzling 
about on the water to-day, peeping into old 
meeting-houses, and seeing the homes that our 
Crosby Street organ-grinders come from. I let a 
tenement-house to a lot of them once—pigs are clean 
in comparison.” 

“Your home is in New York?” 

“ My property is there, I have n’t any home at 
present. Yes, I came to the city forty years ago 
with fifteen dollars in my pocket. I have rather more 
than doubled it,” he remarked dryly. 

Mrs. Pollock, with one eye on the Blessed Virgin, 
cast what Dolly used wickedly to call “ her business 
eye ” on the man at her side. He compared uncom¬ 
monly well with a certain dried-up bundle of in¬ 
iquity, once known to her—the one in short whose 
withdrawal from daylight had left her his “ relict.” 

Mr. Hudson was not young, nor extremely intel¬ 
lectual, but he looked as if he could be depended 
on to speak civilly and part with a penny without 
excess of sorrow. 


LOVE. 


25 7 


“ Is this big canvas the chief -do-over , as they say, 
of the whole collection ? ” he inquired, putting on 
his glasses. 

“ Yes,” said Florida, assuming the role of instruc¬ 
tor. “ It is considered Titian’s masterpiece.” 

“ Pretty—quite—what is the subject, Moses on 
the Mount ? ” 

“ Oh, no, it is the Assumption of the Virgin.” 

“ So it is a female figure. They swaddle their 
saints up in so many petticoats it is hard to tell the 
difference—Assumption—well now, what did she do 
when she—assumpted ? ” 

Florida, having put the very question to Mrs. 
Thorne in the past, promptly replied : “ She is sup¬ 
posed by the Roman Catholics to have been raised 
from the tomb and received in this way into heaven.” 

“ She was, hey !—I doubt it, Bible does not say so — 
well, ah—big pattern is n’t she, but healthy-looking. 
Who is this chap looking at her over the back of his 
head—seems to be saying his prayers ? ” 

“ I—guess that is Saint Peter.” 

“ Saint or sinner, he is sitting down on nothing in 
a way nobody ever could without sprawling flat on 
his back—the little valentine cupids are natural¬ 
looking. Who did you say did it ? ” 

“ Titian, their greatest painter here. He died—a 
long time ago.” 

“ Titian, yes, I saw some work he did on the 
plastering over in that place that looks like our New 


258 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


York gallery in Twenty-third Street. How are the 
the rest of your party, Mrs. Pollard ?” 

Florida set him right on her name, then told him 
of their doings and of Mr. Heath’s illness. 

He was very sorry, and declared his intention of 
going that night to offer his assistance to Mr. Edge- 
comb. He proposed to read the American news to 
Florida and after doing it sauntered about under her 
guidance. She found it not disagreeable to act as art 
instructor to one teachable, while undeniably ignorant 
of the old masters. Mr. Hudson for his part was 
glad of Florida’s companionship. He said to her 
during the interview that he was “ naturally soci¬ 
able,” and that he hoped Mrs. Thorne would not be 
“put out” if he joined her party occasionally. 
Owing to his presence Mrs. Pollock could not con¬ 
sult the catalogue with the attention required to 
understand the pictures, so when he boldly declared 
that “they did not amount to much ” she was silent, 
though she felt the remark to be sacrilegious. 

“ Let us go out,” proposed Mr. Hudson, at last, 
“ and get on the steamboat and go as far as it goes ! 
Now the city sees their advantage over these old 
black row-boats it is to be hoped they will have 
steam everywhere.” 

“ Oh, but the gondolas are much more romantic, 
Mr. Hudson,” protested Florida, going down stairs a 
step behind him, while she made those digital dives 
into her front hair done by her sex with intent to 
make it fluffy. 


love . 259 

“ Romantic—humph ! Fancy a man going at mid¬ 
night for his doctor, the baby in a fit.” 

“ In that case he might do better to take to his 
heels along the lanes behind the houses,” agreed 
Florida, who was not without practicality. 

“All these old one-horse cities over here will soon 
be coming to the front with electricity to push them. 
Some things will be renewed sooner than others. 
I suppose now they would n’t rip up that old mosaic 
pavement, uneven as it is, in Saint Mark’s Cathedral 
if anybody would give them a good hard-wood 
floor, a warm carpet, and throw in a furnace. My 
room over at the hotel has a floor the porter says is 
Roman cement. It looks like petrified hash and is 
cold as a tombstone.” 

They were outdoors by that time. One of the 
little Vaporctti that ply all day up and down the 
canal was stopping at the landing-place close by the 
Academia. Mr. Hudson escorted Mrs. Pollock on 
board, found her a shaded seat, and they started, 
touching at one or two points before they reached 
the Public Gardens. There Mr. Hudson proposed 
they should get off the boat and stroll around a few 
moments in what seemed a little park full of peo¬ 
ple. Mrs. Pollock making no objection they roamed 
about for more than an hour. 

Doctor Tom stood at the window apparently 
watching the antics of a juvenile Venetian, who, 
having no back-yard in which to make mud pies, 


26o LOVE AND SNA tVL-STRAPS. 

had been tied by a rope to the family door-knob, 
and left to disport himself in the canal. Being quite 
infantile he had for safety what seemed like the 
family bread-board, on which he supported his 
elbows when weary, after the manner of the Sistine 
Madonna cherubs. The Doctor saw him, but was 
all the time carrying on a train of thought having 
no relation to anything before his eyes. He was 
thinking of Heath stretched out motionless on a 
wide couch drawn into the middle of the room. The 
fever had left him, and with his eyes closed he looked 
ghastly. He had weathered the worst, and Tom had 
little fear as to his ultimate recovery, but he did not 
gain as he should. He had just apologized with a 
flicker of a smile for being “such an unconscionable 
long time dying—or getting well.” He was very 
patient. Florida had gone back to her party, and 
Edgecomb, with one faithful hotel waiter, cared for 
him ; but day after day was going past, and Heath 
did not take the “ start ” which Tom had prophesied 
he surely would take. It troubled the Doctor. He 
left the window to go to Heath’s side. 

“ You are better, young man.” 

“Am I ? ” 

“Why, don’t you feel better?” 

“H ave no feeling.” 

“ You need stirring up. Now you are able to be on 
this couch arrayed in that Oriental dressing-gown ar¬ 
rangement, I think I might bring the girls to see you.” 




LOVE . 


261 


“ No.” 

“ Not want to see Miss Bilton.” 

“No.” 

“ Nor Miss Dwight ? ” 

“ Congratulate her,” gasped Heath, faintly. “ Don’t 
you think you could venture?” 

“ May Miss Dorothy come ? ” 

No answer for a moment, then the poor fellow 
faltered out: “ Don’t torment outside of your legiti¬ 
mate field of operations. I suppose—she—would 
not have cared—if I had died.” 

“ Think so ? ” said Tom. “ Hello, here comes Gia¬ 
como, or whatever his name is, with the broth ; get 
all you can down. I will look in again later.” 

All the time Doctor Bruce was meandering lunch- 
ward by a circuitous route (for he always lost his 
way) he was plotting a scheme that he dare not con¬ 
fide in its entirety to Kate. When he reached the 
hotel he met Miss Dwight in the entrance. 

“ Miss Dwight,” he said, “ will you kindly ask 
Miss Coxe to come to the reading-room ? I want to 
speak to her alone.” Then he turned toward that 
apartment, finding it deserted. He had scarcely 
opened a London paper before Dolly came, her eyes 
looking strangely dark and a bright spot of color in 
each cheek. 

“What is it, Doctor? Any—any bad news?” 

“ Oh no, child,” he replied in his most fatherly 
tone, “ only I have just come from our friend Heath. 
He was a special friend of yours, was he not ? ” 


262 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS . 


“ He—yes.” 

“ Could you not come over this afternoon when I 
go to make my call; you and Kate? It might 
brighten him a bit; he is badly off—low-spirited, 
maybe he thinks he is not going to get well. One 
day he said something about wanting to leave some 
especial message for his mother in case anything did 
happen to him. Poor chap, it is rough, being sick 
away from his people and being cared for by com¬ 
parative strangers.” 

“ Did he ask to have me come ? ” 

Doctor Tom always vowed to Kate that the look 
Dolly Coxe gave him when she put that question 
rendered him morally incapable of the truth and 
nothing but the truth. 

“He said, Miss Dolly, that he did not want any 
one but you and you did not want to come.” 

Dolly’s forget-me-not eyes were suddenly all 
drenched in dew. 

“ Is he going to die , Doctor? ” 

“ Not at present, but he never will get well unless 
he plucks up a little more courage.” 

“You explain to Mrs. Thorne, and I will go,” 
said Dolly, darting away before he could speak 
again. 

Tom marched into his sister’s presence and sternly 
regarded her as she was searching her bag for a clean 
handkerchief. 

“ Katherine ? ” 


LOVE. 


263 


“ Thomas.” 

“ At half-past three you will please accompany 
Miss Coxe and me to the Hotel d’ Italie. You will 
ask no questions and I will tell you no lies. On en¬ 
tering Mr. Heath’s apartment—(I will precede you 
by a moment)—you will go over to the window and 
watch the gondoliers. Miss Coxe we will leave to 
her own devices, and may the Lord have mercy on 
Heath.” 

“Tom, are you wise? Remember pills and pow¬ 
ders are all in your line, but—” 

“ But in this case I can minister to a mind dis¬ 
eased, and as for Dorothy Coxe—mark my words 
for it, Kate,—soon her foot will be on her native 
heath.” 

Kate hinted that he was a match-making, punning 
wretch, but she did not refuse his request. She had 
before this made it her duty quietly to inform her¬ 
self in regard to Mr. Heath. True, she might not 
have thought it necessary but for Tom’s suspicions 
in Geneva. She began to wonder at her brother’s 
penetration. 

At half-past three exactly, Mrs. Thorne, coming 
out of her room, met Dorothy—at least Dorothy 
was in the hall—intently examining one of the beau¬ 
tiful carved cabinets that adorned this Palazzo Dan- 
dolo. She wore her hat and looked relieved when 
Kate, in a matter-of-fact way, remarked : “We will 
go in a gondola, but I want to walk home by way of 


264 


LOVE AND SNA W 1 ,-STRAPS. 


the square. We can do a little shopping when we 
get rid of Tom.” 

“ What ingratitude, considering the times I have 
cheapened things by judiciously sneering at them 
for you,” exclaimed the Doctor, appearing at the 
foot of the stairs. 

It was a warm day, but the boat had a canopy; a 
soft breeze stole in from the sea ; the gondolas moved 
slowly, the boatmen exchanging lazy greetings as 
they passed. The Doctor and Mrs. Thorne talked of 
indifferent topics, for Dolly was nervous, not once 
speaking, until they turned in toward the threshold 
of the Hotel d’ Italie. 

“Wait here just a moment,” said the Doctor, 
when they were inside, “ I will go ahead to give him a 
hint that you are here, then come right up.” 

Kate talked with the big and genial porter. 
Dolly gave a gasp as the dismissed gondolier pushed 
his craft out toward the Grand Canal. It was as if 
she saw escape cut off. 

“ Now, Dolly, we will go up.” Kate glanced at 
her, moved out of the porter's hearing, and said 
gently : “ Dorothy, do not go if you think—if you 
go merely from kindness ; unless you understand 
yourself and him it might be kinder to stay away.” 

The young girl stood motionless, thinking; then 
she quietly passed before Mrs. Thorne, going first 
toward an open door near the head of the stairs. 
She entered first. Heath’s face was turned towards 


LOVE . 


265 


her; a half startled, half appealing intentness in the 
look fastened on this sudden vision of girlish love¬ 
liness. Kate shrank back a little, the Doctor—well 
he enacted “ peeping Tom ” over again just for the 
moment. In that period of time Dorothy crossed the 
room, slipped one silken sleeve under Heath’s neck, 
folded the other arm around him—and kissed him. 

Tom had decency enough then to assume great 
interest in remarks made to his sister. Heath’s 
eyes rendered prompt speech on his part needless. 
Dolly just waited to touch her soft cheek for a 
second to his pale face before she turned in roguish, 
blushing tearfulness to announce to the witnesses 
present: “ It is quite proper, I suppose. We are 
engaged ”—then sotto voce to Heath: “If I say so 
we are, aren’t we?” 

A whisper was the utmost that Heath could 
accomplish ; all the force he had was in the grasp of 
his fingers around a warm, plump little hand. It 
was a hand that now stayed gladly in his—and for 
the rest, was it Heaven or just Venice? Dolly wore 
a rose ; half its petals were strewn over his breast. 
Outside the window some one was singing a Venetian 
love song. 

“ You may stay with him just three minutes 
longer if he holds his tongue,” announced Doctor 
Tom, grinning on them over his watch ; “ then I will 
feel his pulse, give him a powder, and we will bid 
you ladies good-afternoon.” 


266 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“Dolly?” 

She bent nearer to hear. 

“ I have decided to live, on one condition.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ Does this engagement hold for life ?” 

“If you never mean to marry—yes ; ” then not 
quite cruel enough to torment so helpless a victim, 
Dolly whispered something quite satisfactory. 

The Doctor said : “ Time’s up.” 

Kate pointed out to her brother a long, low bark 
loaded with fruit. She made him enumerate to her 
the various sorts, after which exercise she hoped 
they had not overtaxed Mr. Heath’s strength; then 
she came away with Dorothy Coxe. 

They had but a few steps to go before they were 
in the great square. At that hour of the summer 
day there was little life or motion. Broad sunshine 
fell on one side, deserted by all creatures save the 
doves, whose plumage gleamed gold and purple and 
crimson in the fierce light. Elsewhere was shade, 
open cafes, idlers sipping ices outside their doors, 
strangers strolling from windows full of jewels to 
others bright with gay pictures or still others radiant 
with iridescent glass. 

Kate had an errand or two about which she talked 
to her companion, purposely saying nothing of what 
was in both their minds. They loitered along until 
close to the Basilica, where they stepped in under 
the ancient mosaics. 


LOVE . 


267 


“Let us find a beautiful corner to rest awhile,” 
said Kate, adding: “ I never get enough of St. 
Mark’s. There are no two places called churches more 
unlike than this and Westminster Abbey, but they 
are alike in the hold they take on my heart and 
brain.” 

Then Dolly made one of those speeches that she 
never made to any one but Kate. 

“ Yet although both are churches, neither makes 
me think of worship, as I think of it in an old grey 
barn of a house where my Quaker grandmother sits 
silent, hours at a time.” 

“ I like to come here when too tired to think 
vigorously,” said Kate. “ The faint odor of incense, 
the frequent music, and the feast for my eyes is 
infinitely soothing.” 

They nestled into a dim retreat out of the track 
of the curious. 

When they had been together a little time in 
silence, Kate said: “Your mother trusted you in 
my care, Dolly; will you be able to satisfy her that 
I have been careful enough of you ? You did not 
really give me time to gainsay matters.” 

“ I will tell you about it, Mrs. Thorne,” said 
Dorothy, in a gentle way, quite irresistible. 

She began shyly at first, the toe of her small boot 
doing its best to dislodge a bit of green mosaic from 
the billowy pavement, but growing earnest she for¬ 
got to be abashed. She made Kate see that her 


268 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


love for Heath was not a superficial fancy ; that so 
real had it been with her from the first that she had 
perversely fought it, provoked at being easily taken 
captive. She listened gravely when Kate gave her 
a kindly lecture on frivolity and naughtiness. She 
replied by confessing much of which she had not 
been accused, going on then to evince a “ sweet 
reasonableness” and a promise of future goodness 
that would have satisfied even her Quaker ancestors. 
Mrs. Thorne half realized it then—Dorothy knew it 
later: that, during this hour in St. Mark’s, the 
woman in her asserted itself, putting away childish 
things for ever. Love made her true to herself, and 
Dorothy’s best self was sweet, pure, and sincere. 
Kate (as Miss Bilton often sadly remarked) was 
“ very reserved,” but she kissed Dolly in that dim 
nook under the colossal frescos, saying to her what 
the mother over the sea might have said in her stead. 
They went out then, finding clock-tower, domes, 
porticos, belfries, and bell-tower glittering in the 
late sunlight. The doves were multiplied by hun¬ 
dreds, a military band was giving a concert, and 
gaily-kerchiefed Venetian women, sober-hued travel¬ 
lers, peddlers, water-carriers, and flower-girls filled 
the square. Studying a picture in Naya’s window 
stood Doctor Bruce. 

“Is your patient any the worse for our call?” 
asked Mrs. Thorne. 

“ Kate, if the visit of two ladies can make a man 


LOVE . 


269 


look so ineffably happy as Heath looks, what would 
be the effect of turning loose on him the whole seven ? 
Seven is the emblem of perfection, too, you know— 
why, he would be like a glorified Buddhist absorbed 
in Nirvana. I got so envious at sight of a man in 
his condition beaming beatifically at nothing, that I 
came away. He will not know whether he is alone 
or not for the next twenty-four hours—Miss Coxe, 
come back ! I want to show you this St. Barbara.” 

“Stop teasing her, Tom. 1 am not sure that I 
approve of you at all.” 

“ Katherine Thorne, look me in the eye. Remem¬ 
ber Ananias and Sapphira ! Was that last remark of 
yours true ? ” 

“ Oh, all is well that ends well, but you took a 
great deal on yourself.” 

“ Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. 
Heath is a brick, and, oh, if he is not happy, I never 
saw one who was.” 

After the tender episode in Mr. Heath’s sick-room, 
Mrs. Thorne supposed that she could predict exactly 
Miss Dorothy Coxe’s future proceedings. Having 
been “ uncertain and hard to please,” she would, of 
course, now adopt the “ ministering angel ” part of 
the poetic programme. Mrs. Thorne, with a sigh, 
resigned herself to the idea of accompanying Dolly 
daily to the Hotel d’ltalie. 

Miss Coxe, however, was in a process of evolution, 
and Mrs. Thorne did not foresee the next stage. 


2 JO 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


Dorothy did not repent having made herself and 
Heath happy, but before the next day she had a 
severe attack of bashfulness, and bitterly regretted 
that she had been so precipitate. She fancied her¬ 
self entering his room after Mrs. Thorne, her card- 
case in her hand. She wished she had seated herself 
by the window, composedly fanned herself, given 
him her impressions of Venice, and elegantly ex¬ 
pressed gratification that he was likely to recover. 
To have held his hand just before she left him, giv¬ 
ing it a very slight pressure, would have done for the 
present. The longer Dolly reflected, the more she 
suspected the Doctor of scheming. 

Her first move the next day was to request Mrs. 
Thorne not to mention her engagement until Mr. 
Heath was able to be about. After that Dolly went 
sight-seeing. She excelled Miss Bilton in her efforts 
to see and to know everything. She was quieter, 
gentler, and not Harriet herself was more delicately 
circumspect on all occasions. Not once in the next 
ten days did she go near Heath. She sent, by Mrs. 
Thorne, a few notes and several bunches of blue 
violets; beyond that she refused to go. With the 
proper grace of a young Puritan maiden she re¬ 
marked that“ Mr. Heath certainly now understood ” 
her; there would be “ time enough to say anything 
he had to say when he got well." 

It was all in vain for the Doctor and his patient 
to put their heads together and threaten Dorothy 


LOVE. 


271 


with a “ relapse.” She refused to be scared in the 
least, saying recovery from a fever was always a slow 
process. Heath had to be content. It was not very 
hard with her flowers, her notes, her photograph 
under his pillow, with the recollection of her visit 
and the realization that she was having her way 
now, but his time was fast coming. 

*••••• 

In the first days of Harriet Dwight’s stay in 
Venice she had received a letter telling her of the 
death of her aunt, the only living relative (except a 
young cousin) whom she had left behind her. The 
news was not wholly unexpected. Her aunt was old 
and had been for several years getting infirm. She 
had been, as Charles Lamb said of another woman, 
“a steadfast old Christian with asperities.” Harriet 
had always retained faith in her virtues; her faults 
the old lady never allowed any one to overlook. 
She had brought Harriet up after a heroic sort of 
treatment which had produced no lasting bad results. 
Some of her principles acted like planks laid over 
tender grass, still when the planks are lifted sunshine 
works wonders. In a way Harriet grieved for her, 
but grieved most that she could not grieve more. 
She was grateful for benefits received during her 
repressed childhood. She repented of remembered 
times when she refused to be repressed, and again 
she was saddened at the thought of there being no 
one now across the sea awaiting her return. After 


2?2 


LOVE AND SHAXVL-STRAPS. 


a few days she rated herself for insensibility that her 
grief was not more poignant, that she could so 
quietly reason that the careworn old lady was better 
at rest. Only Mrs. Thorne understood Harriet in 
those days. She did not speak of her aunt to the 
others, who thought her strangely grave. Indeed, 
while all of the little company liked and admired 
Harriet Dwight, there was a reserve about her that 
none of them but Mrs. Thorne had penetrated. 
She knew Harriet more by what she intuitively 
understood than from what the young girl con¬ 
sciously revealed. During these weeks in Venice 
Mrs. Thorne, too, had come to feel the warmest 
liking for Mr. Edgecomb. She heartily wished him 
success in his love for his own sake and for Harriet’s, 
but of his chances she could foretell little. Without 
ever having been told so, Edgecomb knew Mrs. 
Thorne was his friend, that she trusted him. One 
evening the entire party, with the addition of Mr. 
Hudson and Edgecomb, had been in the great 
square for an hour or more. There was a concert; 
every cafe overflowed with gay people, laughing, 
ice eating, coffee sipping. All the Venetians were 
abroad and every stranger in the city as well, or so 
it would seem from the swarming crowds that in 
time became oppressive. 

“ Mrs. Thorne,” said Mr. Edgecomb, unheard by 
their companions, “ I have become expert in rowing 
a gondola.” 


LOVE. 


273 


“So I have heard.” 

“You leave Venice in a few days? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I have been out with Miss Dwight and Mrs. 
Pollock, and Miss Dwight and Mrs. Bushby, and 
Miss Dwight and yourself. I should like to-night 
just for a little while to—to—” 

“ Leave Miss Dwight behind and take one of the 
others perhaps.” 

“ Mrs. Thorne, do not be cruel.” 

“ You will not go far nor be gone long ? ” 

“ Not if I can reckon time with a cool head.” 

She probably consented, for he gave her hand a 
warm pressure. Finding Miss Dwight he told her 
they were to return to the hotel by boat. He led 
her to a gondola and she supposed the rest were 
close behind in the crowd. She was in the gondola 
before she saw they were alone. 

“ In such a night did Lorenzo steal away the 
pretty Jessica.” 

“You should have obtained my consent,” retorted 
Harriet, reproachfully. 

“ In such a night did pretty Jessica, like a little 
shrew, slander her love, and he forgave it her.” 

Vexation at being taken possession of so auda¬ 
ciously by her lover struggled with another feeling 
in her breast and Harriet was silent. Edgecomb 
construed the silence against himself. 

“ This is my hour, but I will not use force. Will 
you come with your—friend ? ” 


274 LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 

Harriet, caught by the word “ friend,’’ hesitated 
and was lost. 

“Yes, I will go with my friend.” 

The gondola shot forward with a sudden joyous 
impulse, gliding along over threads of gold on the 
dark water. Myriads of lights twinkled on all sides. 
For a while they spoke of the scene in the square, 
then they passed under a bridge. Edgecomb 
glanced at the Palazzo Rezzonico. 

“ Who are the Three in Browning’s In a Gondola ? ” 
he asked. 

“ It is fashionable to understand Browning,” she 
answered, “ but I do not want to, except where he 
makes himself understood, or where he leaves us to 
understand by those three dots with which he is 
fond of breaking his lines. You might find out by 
rowing us past the Pucci Palace . . . who she 

is, who the Three are. Her home— 

“ * Know I where it fronts demurely 
Over the giadecca piled, 

• Window just with window mating,' 

Door with door exactly waiting, 

All ’s the set face of a child : 

But behind it where’s a trace 
Of the staidness and reserve, 

And formal lines without a curve 
In the same child’s playing face? 

No two windows look one way 
O’er the small water thread 
Below them.’ ” 

“ We will leave the three dots unsolved,” said 


LOVE. 


275 


Edgecomb. “ This palace with carved heads for 
capstones and carved Cupids in the dim cornices is 
Browning’s.” 

They turned into a maze of side canals. Now 
and then a black shadow passed them with a signal 
to which Edgecomb responded. Sometimes they 
would be in the dark, then the queer prow would 
seem to be dividing a sheet of gold. Several times 
they came out upon the Grand Canal to pause before 
some palace, when Edgecomb would deliver little 
lectures on architecture, or more often tell a story 
or relate a legend. 

At first Harriet was not quite at ease, but soon 
the witchery of the varying scene stole over her and 
she felt a strange happiness at being thus alone with 
Edgecomb in this world of beauty. Sometimes 
they would pass under a balcony where instead of 
the usual flower-pots were masses of creepers clam¬ 
bering across a balcony bridge from a garden wall 
opposite. One of these they found on the Palazzo 
Albrizzi, the home of Isabella Teotochi, the friend 
of Foscolo and Byron.” 

“ I did not know there were private gardens,” 
said Harriet. 

“ There are not many, but the serpent can find a 
tree even in Venice. The Palazzo dei Contarini has 
a beautiful garden with a narrow door in the high 
wall suggestive of buoni mani and stolen visits.” 

Sometimes for ten minutes together they would 


2 y6 


LOVE AND SHAWL STEADS. 


not speak, and these silences Edgecomb would 
always break by a thought that had nothing to do 
with Venice. He seemed to be reviewing his whole 
acquaintance with Harriet. Her graceful walk and 
somewhat proud head had first caught his eyes, and 
then the refinement and beauty of her face; and 
then he had traced this beauty in her mind and 
heart and had loved her more and more. He could 
not think of a beginning for that. By her self¬ 
doubts, reserve, and inexorable justice she had un¬ 
consciously made him suffer even more than Dolly 
had made Heath, though unlike Heath he had given 
no outward sign. To-night he would know if his 
patience was to be rewarded, or if—he said to 
himself—he must have more patience. It was not 
in him to say “ or give her up.” 

At length they came to a canal wider than the 
rest, but entirely deserted. The clouds which had 
been hiding the moon now parted and drifted 
away. On one side tall palaces were shrouded in 
gloom ; on the other the moonlight rested on facades 
beautiful with carved stone. Edgecomb came and 
seated himself at Harriet’s feet. Her eyes followed 
his and rested on one of the loveliest sights she had 
ever seen. Late as it was, the sky was still a beau¬ 
tiful clear blue, and outlined against it was a row of 
delicately tinted marble columns. At the first glance 
they seemed white. Then the moon came around 
them and the exquisite tints of pink and green were 


LOVE. 


277 


made visible. It seemed too rare even for Venice. 
It was like a glimpse of a city not made with hands. 
She turned her moonlit face to Edgecomb with a 
happy smile, and he, looking into it, lost in his love, 
said in a tone no woman can hear unmoved: 

“ Tell me, dear ! ” 

And for answer she bent toward him, hesitating, 
hovering for a moment, and then felt herself drawn 
into his arms, and her pure lips pressed by his thirst¬ 
ing ones. 


CHAPTER NINTH. 


SHAWL-STRAPS. 

M RS. POLLOCK thought she could shop to 
better advantage when alone. It was 
quite possible, for she had repeatedly re¬ 
turned from the square with articles purchased at a 
franc less than the price paid by her friends. She 
had gone out one day to select a few mosaic brooches, 
and had succeeded beyond all previous efforts. Be¬ 
ing therefore in excellent spirits, she greeted Mr. 
Hudson very cordially when she happened to meet 
him roaming about rather aimlessly. 

“ I told you of that cemetery in Genoa, did n’t I ? 
Loveliest graveyard I was ever in. It seemed as if 
half the bodies there had come outside of their tomb¬ 
stones to visit with one another, and all been turned 
into first-class statuary. There were priests and 
monks with their robes, prayer-books, and beads. 
Why, even one good motherly-looking soul who 
used to be a baker was there with loaves of bread 
under her arm. You could have copied the pattern 
of the needlework on her apron.” 

278 


SHA WL-STRAPS. 


279 


“ It must have been a queer place,” said Florida. 

“ Oh, beautiful ! I have just been asking in this 
photograph shop what they have in that line here. 
They told me their burying-ground is on an island 
just a little way off—nice little excursion and fine 
view of Venice. Don’t you want to take a boat right 
out here and go with me ? It is two hours yet to 
lunch time.” 

“ I don’t know but I will,” replied Florida, looking 
off at the sunlit waves that mirrored an intensely 
blue sky. “ You seem interested in cemeteries,” she 
said, following him toward the water. 

“ I ought to be, I have buried three wives in differ¬ 
ent ones, excellent, good women, all of them. My 
present purpose is to get an idea for a handsome 
stone for the last one,” he remarked, suddenly halt¬ 
ing and pointing upward so abruptly that Florida 
had a fleeting idea he saw a vision of the departed, 
but he merely wanted her to catch sight of the 
bronze giants on the clock tower while in the act of 
striking the hour. 

“ I hate these old black punts,” Mr. Hudson re¬ 
marked when they stood by the gondola. “ I will 
let the man help you, for I am so clumsy we might 
go overboard. That would be bad for both of us, 
as I never could learn to swim.” 

It was a delightful trip, and the city was very 
beautiful as they floated farther and farther from it. 
A funeral procession was returning from the island 


28 o 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


when they approached, and the effect of the singular 
hearse and sable drapings was very striking. On 
landing they took a cursory look about the church, 
but Tintoretto interested them not. One had never 
heard of him, the other had left her guide-book at 
home ; it made no difference. The graveyard was 
extremely disappointing to Mr. Hudson, being in no 
way like that in Genoa. They wandered about be¬ 
tween the graves, which were lavishly adorned with 
wreaths of beads, jet, blue, or white, according as the 
ornament was meant for a child’s or an older per¬ 
son’s grave. Mr. Hudson expressed hearty disgust. 
Florida, who was not a connoisseur in cemeteries, was 
not especially disappointed. She wandered about 
picking a few wild flowers and tripping her toes in 
the unwound wire of the many half-worn wreaths. 

When they had made the circuit of the place Mr. 
Hudson took out his watch, saying : “ I engaged the 
fellow for an hour and a half, so we might as well 
have the worth of the money. Let us sit down 
somewhere and have a chat.” 

He hunted out a clean slab for Florida and they 
were seated. Perhaps it was the influence of their 
surrounding, but the gentleman continued to dwell 
on what might be called his triple widowerhood. 
He was not lachrymose in the least; but assured 
Florida that these excellent women being all happy 
in heaven he took pleasure in the thought their 
troubles were over ; for doubtless they had had trou- 


SHA WL-STRAPS. 


28l 


bles, although he had tried to make life easy for each 
of the three. 

Florida began to feel a premonition of something 
to come. She was really taken unprepared, which 
struck her as queer, considering similar occasions in 
the past when she had fancied coming events cast 
their shadows before—shadows that never solidified 
into realities. 

“ Mrs. Pollard—Pollock, I mean. Have you ever 
thought of marrying again ? ” 

“ Why yes, I presume I have thought of it—in an 
indefinite sort of a way, Mr. Hudson.” 

“ Well, suppose you think of it definitely ; think 
of marrying me? ” he cheerfully proposed, satisfying 
himself as he spoke that his coat tails were not grind¬ 
ing dirt in them from contact with the tomb of that 
defunct Venetian whereon he had deposited his 
substantial self. 

Just then the gondolier gave a yell most unmusi¬ 
cal as proceeding from an Italian throat. He was 
merely accosting a distant comrade, but he startled 
Mr. Hudson into looking again at his watch. 

“ Time will be up unless we start now. Well, 
Mrs. Pollard—Pollock, I mean, we will talk this mat¬ 
ter over later. I would like to get your opinion on 
it. We are old enough, both of us, to be sensible.” 

They were at the water’s edge. The gondolier was 
busy with Florida. Mr. Hudson undertook to help 
himself; perhaps he was a trifle excited. At any 


282 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


rate the boat gave a wild flop sideways. Mrs. Pol¬ 
lock was flung into the boatman’s arms, and Mr. 
Hudson turned a summersault into the Adriatic. 
He went under with a sounding splash, but when he 
came up, the Venetian having disposed of Florida, 
was ready for him. Mrs. Pollock, too, was alert and 
had her wits about her, so that between them they 
hauled the gentleman where, seizing the boat, he 
managed to get into it, wet but amiable. Puffing, 
blowing, and mopping his face, he apologized for the 
water he had brought into the boat, exclaiming : 
“ Never could have happened in a decent steamboat 
with a gangplank ! ” 

They easily made known to the gondolier that he 
might row as fast as possible to the hotel. Mr. 
Hudson’s hat had gone and though bobbing up and 
down on the waves it was not in a condition to be 
worth capturing. He spread his handkerchief over 
his head, made himself as comfortable as the circum¬ 
stances allowed, and was good-natured. Little rivu¬ 
lets ran off his head, his ears, down the back of his 
neck, and oozed from every part of his attire. He 
congratulated himself that the water was warm and 
the sun hot ; then he condemned the judgment of 
the builders of Venice for planting a city and a bury- 
ing-ground in the sea with all the good dry land there 
was. Finally he asked what the party meant to do 
that afternoon. 

Florida studied him intently. He did not look 


Sl/A WL-STRAPS. 


283 


pretty, but he was pleasant. That quality in a man 
must mean a good deal to his wife. The individual 
of whom she was a “relict” had not left her any 
reminiscences of amiability. 

They reached the city in a shorter time than seemed 
possible, and Mr. Hudson did not create any sensation 
until they pulled up at the door of the hotel. There 
stood Doctor Tom awaiting the summons to lunch. 

“Good land, Hudson ! ” he cried, “ you look like 
a Doge that has wed the Adriatic , and gone to live 
in her home ! Did you have to drop him overboard, 
Mrs. Pollock ? ” 

Florida had fled to her room. 

That evening she paid a little visit to Mrs. 
Thorne’s room after dinner, and in a sensible, 
practical way narrated the events of her excursion 
to the graveyard. She agreed perfectly with Mrs. 
Thorne’s suggestion that it would be well to keep 
Mr. Hudson a while on probation until she was en¬ 
tirely certain that she knew all about his moral and 
social standing. The Doctor knew nothing but good 
of him, still in such matters it was surely wise to 
take nothing for granted. Mrs. Pollock discussed 
the affair with great coolness and good sense, retir¬ 
ing when Miss Bilton arrived for a tete-a-tete. 

Kate was not averse to a visit with Bertha. She 
had that day said to her brother : “ Really, Tom, 
Bertha has come out strong so far as reaping present 
advantages from travel is concerned. I feared on 


284 


LOVE AND SNA W 1,-STRAPS. 


the steamer she was going to be silly. On the con¬ 
trary, her whole mind is taken up with history, art, 
and what she can learn as she goes.” 

On this occasion, however, Miss Bilton did not 
speak of the old Republic, the lion of St. Mark’s, or 
refer to the Bellini. She fidgeted awhile, and then 
asked if she might confide in Mrs. Thorne as if she 
were “ mamma.” Kate acquiesced. Bertha gave 
her in detail the story of Dolly Coxe’s misfit lover, 
the young Methodist minister. 

“ You see, Mrs. Thorne, Dolly made me write her 
emotions on seeing Mont Blanc, then her conscience 
troubled her—or something—and she wrote and con¬ 
fessed for us both. He took it beautifully, wrote a 
letter to each of us. Dolly said it would be rude if 
I did not answer that, so I did. Now to-day comes 
this one. You can see yourself that he is good and 
poetical, though the quotation he gives from Tenny¬ 
son is really from Wordsworth. The—the—the 
4 kindred soul ’ part can’t mean—well in Dolly’s let¬ 
ter she ended everything between the minister and 
her. I suppose 4 these chords that thrill responsive’ 
mean— Well, dear Mrs. Thorne, would you please 
read the letter and advise me what to do ? ” 

A sigh struggled up from the depths of the chape¬ 
ron’s soul, but she adjusted the two candlesticks and 
perused the letter. 

“ Well, Bertha, I should say he might be a very 
sentimental, quite pious, and harmless young man. 


SJ7A WL-STRAPS. 


285 


You go right to your room, write a full account of 
him to your mother, inclose all his letters, and do 
not write him one word until you get her answer.” 

M iss Bilton was inclined to argue, but Kate suc¬ 
ceeded in making her promise to follow the advice, 
then she kissed her for her mother, by request, and 
bade her good-night. 

The rest of the company were that night together 
in the reading-room of the hotel. Mr. Heath was 
again among his friends. He had greeted them all 
with heartiest enthusiasm, told them of his experi¬ 
ences in southern Italy, and thanked one and all for 
recent kindnesses. Later he had enticed Miss Coxe 
into a window under pretence of listening to a band 
of musicians in a near gondola, but once there they 
were inattentive listeners. 

“ Dorothy, dear, is not this scheme of Edgecomb’s 
too delightful for mortals here below ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“He is convinced that he can persuade Miss 
Dwight to marry him soon. He wants Mrs. Thorne 
to go back to Pallanza where there is, you know, that 
pretty chapel at the Grand Hotel I have heard you 
speak of, and an English clergyman. They can 
gather the orange blossoms for themselves by the 
border of the lake, be married, and go on and on— 
Egypt, India, Japan, home across the Pacific. Miss 
Dwight has no one left now waiting her return.” 

“ Indeed! ” 


286 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


“ Don’t you think three months is a terribly long 
time to wait ? ” 

“ For what ? ” 

“ Our wedding.” 

“ Oh, our wedding ! Why, I thought I explained 
that after father and mother had seen you, if they 
disapproved in any way, I should never disobey 
them,” replied Miss Dorothy, adding with sweet com¬ 
posure. “ There is that to consider.” 

“ You told me yourself, my Dorothy, that you had 
never found your parents disobedient to you since 
you were born. Well, I suppose I can endure to 
wait if Mrs. Thorne just stops a few weeks in Paris 
before we sail.” 

“We! Are you not going to finish your tour? 
I do not think you have improved your opportuni¬ 
ties. You have been superficial. There is a great 
deal to see in Paris.” 

“Oh, no doubt; but then Hudson says that, 
taking the Louvre for instance, ‘ big place as that 
is, by looking neither to the right nor the left,’ he 
‘ got through it in two hours.’ You can be buying 
your trousseau (is n’t that what they call it?). I will 
run on errands for you. We will do a bit of sight¬ 
seeing and have the ocean voyage together.” 

“ I do not think you can sail on our boat. Mrs. 
Thorne says the return passenger list is full. Why 
do you not run up to Scotland ? You said once 
you must see Edinbro’.” 


SNA IVL-STRA PS. 


287 


“ I need the sea voyage. I am not strong enough 
for travel now. Perhaps I never will be a well man 
again,” he hypocritically added, knowing all the 
time his appetite was getting utterly ravenous, and 
strength coming in like a tide. 

Dorothy looked up so quickly, with trouble in her 
blue eyes, that he cunningly went on : “ If I don’t 

get well, of course I will not keep you tied to-” 

He stopped in mingled shame and delight. The 
tenderness in her lovely face, the flutter of her little 
hand into his quick grasp, showed him he need not 
fear or plot for Dorothy’s love. It was a rare occa¬ 
sion, and Heath improved it to the utmost. Mrs. 
Bushby and the Pollocks were comparing notes 
about the day’s shopping. Just outside the window 
now the singers and players were filling the moon¬ 
light with melody. For the second time in all his 
acquaintance with her, Dolly was not a torment nor 
a tease. 

• • • • • • • 

“ Kate,” said her brother, the last day of their 
stay in Venice, “ do you think this epidemic has run 
its course ? ” 

“ What epidemic? ” she asked, in surprise. 

“ Why, this love-making, courting, engaging fever.” 

Kate sighed, replying: “Well, I have reasonable 
expectations of getting Mrs. Bushby and old Mrs. 
Pollock home without any entanglements, but I may 



288 


LOVE A ND SHA WL-S TEA PS. 


“ I have a presentiment you will,” teased Tom. 

“ Do you know of another ? Is Bertha-” 

“ No, no, dear; don’t get excited, Kate. I merely 
meant that the air seems full of it—of a sort of sup¬ 
pressed emotional-” 

“ Suppressed ! ” interrupted Kate, savagely. “ If 
anything of that sort has been suppressed, Tom, I 
wonder what you would call an expression of it, and 
I do believe that you are responsible for more than 
half of it all.” 

“ Don’t be rough, dear; I may be driven to some 
tender straits myself, if you are cross. Come, 
smooth out your brow, and let me escort you down 
to dinner ; the bell has rung.” 

Kate followed him to the banquet-hall of the 
Dandolos, and ate her dinner with rather pensive 
reflections. She loved Venice, and regretted leaving 
it, perhaps never to return. But a table-d'hote dinner 
is not a very good place for the indulging of senti¬ 
ment. It never ceased to be interesting to her to 
watch the peculiarities of the ever coming and going 
tourists, especially when they were not Americans nor 
English. This night, among other groups, she no¬ 
ticed two ladies and three gentlemen talking Italian. 
All had an air of distinction, one of the gentlemen 
being very handsome. He was a most animated 
talker, and appeared to have so much to say that he 
scarcely paid due attention to the conversation of 
his companions. They, in turn, perhaps in self- 



SI1A IVL-STRAPS. 


289 


defence, carried on active discourse without always 
listening to him. Mrs. Thorne twice happened to 
look him directly in the eyes, and was the second 
time annoyed by the consciousness that he was 
aware of the fact, and wished her to be. She did 
not again look in that direction during the course of 
the dinner. She had often, for the girls, resented 
the stares of foreigners, but never imagined being 
troubled on her own account. 

Dinner over Kate remembered having left a guide¬ 
book on the table in the reading-room. She feared 
some one had picked it up but went thither hoping 
to find it. The book was there and also a new illus¬ 
trated London journal. Mrs. Thorne took it up, 
pausing a while to look over its pages. Soon after 
Miss Bilton and Doctor Bruce arrived. A moment 
later hurried footsteps echoed across the marble hall, 
and the distinguished-looking gentleman whom Kate 
had noticed precipitated himself into the room ; no 
other verb can so well describe his entrance ; but 
once well over the threshold he stopped erect, looked 
quickly about, then with the elegant grace of a stage 
courtier, he tripped across the apartment and fell on 
his knees before Mrs. Thorne. So quick were his 
movements that while Tom and Miss Bilton stood 
open-mouthed, unable to believe their eyes, the 
lordly “swell ” was pouring forth an ardent declara¬ 
tion of love in about equal parts of liquid Italian 

and astonishing English. He had just uttered an 
19 


290 


LOVE AND SHAWL-STRAPS. 


impassioned cry of, “ Oh ! gracious lady, why must 
thou went? ” when a second man pounced in almost 
as alert and elegant as the first. The first sprang to 
his feet as the second reached his side, taking the 
arm of Mrs. Thorne’s adorer and exclaiming: “A 
thousand pardons, madam. He is quite harmless ; 
but I don’t see how he escaped us after dinner ”— 
then, as the gentleman in question became suddenly 
all absorbed in a boat visible from the window, this 
latest comer explained briefly that this was Prince 

D-, of a most illustrious Roman house. He was 

travelling slowly toward Aix les Bains with his wife, 
mother, and attendants. It was needless to add that 
he was irresponsible and given to love-making, with¬ 
out the usual preliminary acquaintance. When this 
statement had been most courteously given, the 
twain withdrew, the elder one warbling a strain from 
an opera, but turning at the door to bestow on Mrs. 
Thorne one more look of unutterable adoration. 
Poor Mrs. Thorne ! She sank trembling into a chair. 
Tom began to laugh. She burst into tears. He 
hurried her to her room, and to his credit, be it said, 
he never after described that scene. Sometimes, 
when sorely tempted, he would just whisper, “ Why 
must thou went?” and laugh himself half into a fit. 

And now that Mrs. Thorne’s party has divided 
itself up in this fashion of two by two nothing re¬ 
mains for reader or writer but to withdraw. The 
role of eavesdropper is undignified. 



SHA WL-STRAPS. 


29I 


It is enough to say that Harriet wore for her 
bridal wreath the orange blossoms of Pallanza; that 
somewhat later Dorothy’s docile parents welcomed 
Heath as a son-in-law; and that Mrs. Florida Pollock 
considered and consented. 


THE END. 





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